“I have lots of time to swim before I need to decide what temporary dye to use.”
“What color?” Knowing she would keep it a secret, I tried to sound innocent.
“Whatever I feel like at the moment.” She sat in the chair next to mine and patted her towel-covered legs. “Here, give Dep to me so you can swim.”
I placed Dep gently in Samantha’s lap. The rhythm of Dep’s purrs went on unbroken.
I padded barefoot across the sand. It was soft and retained some of the day’s earlier heat.
The water was a different story, although it was probably as warm as small lakes ever got in northern Wisconsin. I waded in, dunked myself, and tried not to gasp. Within seconds, I was used to the temperature. I swam beside Misty. At the end of the laps nearest our cottage, I checked the beach. In sunglasses, wrapped in a towel, and stroking the cat on her lap, Samantha faced the lake, no doubt keeping an eye on everyone in the water and ready to spring into action if any of us needed help.
Increasing my speed, I reassured myself that the charges against Nina would be dropped and she’d be freed. Samantha and Hooligan would have a beautiful wedding and head to their secret honeymoon location. Nina would repair her painting and have it shipped to the Arthur C. Arthurs Gallery in time for the show. Samantha and Hooligan would live happily ever after. Misty and Scott would, too. Nina would become so famous that she’d be able to paint full-time, but she wouldn’t move away, and we’d see her often. She’d walk to Deputy Donut for breaks.
Dripping, Misty and I made our way back to the sun-warmed sand, walked across it, wrapped our towels around ourselves, and settled into our chairs. Dep clambered into my lap, closed her eyes, and purred loudly.
The other three of us sat quietly enjoying one another’s company. I almost dozed.
Something to my left jingled. With a joyful bark, a half-grown but very large puppy bounded toward us, his tongue lolling out the side of his mouth, which was stretched in a happy smile. He was mostly white with large black splotches. A lopsided white streak snaked up from his nose to the top of his fluffy black head. His ears flopped and his paws were about the size of teacups. Despite his speed, he wore an adorably bewildered expression.
Dep leaped up and dug her claws into the towel—and into my legs. Arching her back, she made herself about twice her usual size. In case that wasn’t enough, she twitched her tail, flattened her ears, and hissed.
Spraying sand, the puppy put on the brakes exactly like a dog in a cartoon. A whistle sounded in the distance. The puppy turned around and scooted back toward the lodge. At first, his giant white plume of a tail was down near his back legs, but by the time I lost sight of him, his tail was high again and waving proudly.
We three humans laughed. The puppy had been very cute. “I guess you showed him, Dep,” I said. Still puffed up, she stared toward where he’d disappeared among trees. I had a feeling that, unlike us, Dep hadn’t found him either funny or cute. I wondered who had blown the whistle and if the puppy had returned to his owner.
Samantha’s smile was almost motherly. “I love the way puppies run.”
I agreed. “There’s a weird sort of grace in their roly-poly clumsiness.”
Misty was still smiling, too. “They look completely happy and free.”
Dep settled back into my lap, but she continued watching where we’d last seen the puppy as if she expected him to return and only she could fend him off. “Free,” I said a little sadly. “I wish Nina was free and the actual killer wasn’t.”
Misty seemed to choose her words carefully. “We always hope we catch the right person. Sometimes, we don’t, though. And I agree with you that Nina is an unlikely killer. Maybe that’s because I hate to believe that you’ve had one working with you at Deputy Donut, and maybe it’s because, as you’ve pointed out, she seems too nice. But murderers can fool people, and often do.”
I went over all the reasons I believed that Nina had been the target of the murderer. Samantha and Dep both seemed to be catnapping.
Misty agreed with me. “Those are all valid. I’ve seen photos of Zippy Melwyn when she was alive and not wearing mime makeup. She and Nina could have been sisters.”
“Is Nina still denying that they’re distant cousins?”
“Yes, but Kim Gartborg and Brent don’t believe her. They’re sure that Nina is the person who reported her locket stolen when she was eight.”
“Do they know Nina’s real name yet?”
“I think so, but they haven’t made it public. I don’t know what it is.”
I suggested, “Maybe they have to keep it secret to protect her.”
“I suspect it’s something like that.”
“Did they search her phone yet?”
“She’s had it for a couple of years and has made hardly any calls.”
“Did she ever call or get a call from Zippy?”
“Not on that phone. We have no evidence of their ever having been in touch except for the anecdote from the resort owner where they attended that family reunion when Nina was eight. The call history shows that you called her at 9:43 the night of Friday the thirteenth, and that the call wasn’t answered, but your message was picked up at nine minutes after ten.”
“Which is what Nina and I told Brent.”
“Yes.” Misty tilted her head. “If Nina didn’t kill Zippy, who do you think did?” Because of Misty’s sunglasses, I couldn’t see her eyes. I saw only my reflection.
Smoothing my rowdy curls, I repeated the clues I’d found pointing to the magician, also known as Marv the Marvelous and Marvin Oarhill.
Misty took off her sunglasses and pointed them toward me. “He couldn’t have done it.”
I spluttered, “But a man fitting his description was sitting in the pub watching Nina’s apartment all afternoon and evening until shortly before I found Zippy.”
“If Buddy told the truth the second time that Brent and Kim interviewed him, a man was in Suds for Buds watching all afternoon and evening, but the man wasn’t Oarhill.”
Chapter 26
I argued, “How can the man not be Marvin Oarhill? Both Kassandra Pyerson and Buddy described him.” I sat up straighter. “Brent has a video showing him leaving the pub and starting across the street toward Nina’s apartment at about the right time.”
“Oarhill couldn’t have been there then.” Not wanting to believe her, I gave my head a little shake, but Misty went on. “A witness saw Oarhill removing the magnetic signs from his van doors right after he stole money from your cash drawer. Then he drove out of the carnival parking lot.”
I raised my index finger in an aha! gesture.
“But he couldn’t have spent the afternoon and the evening in Suds for Buds. New evidence came in this morning. An hour after Oarhill stole from you, he used his credit card to buy gas fifty miles from Fallingbrook.”
“He could have turned around and driven back those fifty miles.”
“Granted, but he was pulled over for a burned-out headlight at ten that evening in Des Moines. Those officers didn’t know he was wanted for anything else, so they let him go.”
“Then he attacked Zippy before he left Fallingbrook.” Even before Misty gave me her you’ve-got-to-be-kidding look, I saw the error in my logic and admitted, “Zippy was seen in Nina’s neighborhood around the time that Oarhill was stopped in Des Moines.”
“Right. He was caught this morning in Minneapolis and charged.”
“Minneapolis, and he’d been in Des Moines. Does that mean he was coming back here?”
“He claimed he was on his way to Duluth.”
I let sarcasm creep into my voice. “That’s where he was pickpocketing before he came to Fallingbrook. They must have lots of fairs in Duluth.”
“It’s possible.”
“What did they charge him with?”
“Something to do with his fraudulent websites and his activities as a pickpocket. And it’s largely due to you that he was stopped this morning. You’re the one who
photographed his license plate, and you’re also the one who confirmed that the magician who stole from you was Marvin Oarhill.”
“Is he in jail?”
“He was released on bail. They don’t consider him a danger to society.”
I continued my stubborn arguments. “Someone is, especially to Nina if she’s released, which she should be.” I was in a bikini, wrapped in a towel, sitting on a beach with my cat on my lap, but I had a police officer to talk to, and I wasn’t about to give up my attempts to figure out who had killed Zippy. I argued, “It seems like too much of a coincidence that a man was looking out toward Nina’s street door all afternoon and evening, and then left shortly before Zippy was killed.”
“Coincidences happen,” Misty said.
“There was another man, Rodeo Rod, at the carnival who I believe drives a windowless van. I told Brent about him, and that when I was walking home yesterday, he might have been trying to follow me. Maybe he was heading to wherever he thought Nina might go if she was freed, like her apartment or my house.”
Samantha wasn’t sleeping, after all. She suggested, “Maybe he was looking for you because he likes you.”
I admitted, “He was a little flirtatious, but at first, at least, he seemed more interested in Nina than in me. And I still wear my wedding ring.”
Samantha touched the engagement ring on her finger. “That doesn’t stop everyone.”
Misty asked me, “Do you know of any reason why this rodeo performer might have wanted to kill Zippy?”
“No, but he was at the carnival the same time she was.” I knew it sounded childish and could not have been considered as evidence in a murder.
Misty put her sunglasses on top of her head. “So were you.”
I fidgeted with the corner of my towel. “So were a lot of people. Marsha Fitchelder, the carnival organizer, didn’t like Nina, plus she had an argument with Zippy about where Zippy should park her car. Zippy used her miming talents to mock Marsha, which obviously annoyed Marsha. Later, Zippy refused to move her car, and Marsha called you guys to tow it. The responding officers refused. I’m sure that made Marsha even angrier. She visited Deputy Donut this afternoon.” I recited her rhyming warning.
Misty grinned. Samantha laughed.
I added, “After Marsha left Deputy Donut, Tom and I discussed her so-called alibis. Marsha claimed she’d been at the carnival all day and evening on Friday. Nina and I didn’t see her at the carnival when we left shortly after nine. Tom was there from about ten until about quarter to eleven Friday night. He didn’t see Marsha at all during that time although she’d been around the night before when they were setting up.”
Misty tapped her neatly trimmed fingernails against the wooden arm of her chair. “We don’t have anyone who has reported seeing her at the carnival between about nine and eleven fifteen on the thirteenth. Someone saw her arrive at the carnival in her car around midnight, however.”
“That explains why she’s warning me about talking to the police about her supposed alibis. She doesn’t have any for when Zippy was probably killed. And she’s big and muscular. She could subdue just about anyone, even Zippy, who didn’t weigh much considering her height. But if the man who was watching Nina’s apartment didn’t murder Zippy, there’s another suspect besides Marsha who is more likely than Rodeo Rod.”
“Who?”
“Kassandra Pyerson, the woman who told me about the man in Suds for Buds. She could have described him to cover the fact that she left Suds for Buds shortly before Zippy was attacked. She told me that she returned to work that night after a break, but Buddy said she never came back. Also, I caught her peering into our donut car at the carnival. Her hand was on the handle of the driver’s door. I called to her, but she skulked away.”
“Skulked,” Samantha repeated. “I love that word, Emily.”
“It fits,” I said. “And she did something else that makes me suspect her.” I described the two different addresses, one that was actually Zippy’s address in Lapeer, Michigan, and one that didn’t exist in Fallingbrook.
Misty let out a big sigh. “I heard about that, and you know I would love it if Nina proved to be innocent. Brent and Kim have collected evidence that points to Nina, except for one little chink in the case.”
If I hadn’t been holding a sleeping cat in my lap, I might have jumped out of my chair. “What?”
“I’m probably not supposed to tell you this, but Zippy Melwyn and Kassandra Pyerson were roommates in that Lapeer apartment. They signed a lease together.”
I crowed, “I knew it!” Dep stood, stretched, gave me a disgruntled but sleepy look, turned around, and settled in my lap again. For Samantha’s benefit, I described the torn letter I’d found in my car.
Misty smiled at Dep. “Kim and Brent agree with you that the handwriting on that fragment of a letter could be Kassandra’s, but they’re calling in a handwriting expert.”
I couldn’t help giving Misty a smug look. “Brent told me that Zippy’s apartment key looked new. If she changed the locks and kicked Kassandra out, Kassandra had a grudge. And Kassandra showed Summer Peabody-Smith and me photos of paintings that she said were hers. Arthur C. Arthurs said that Zippy had been in contact with him about those same paintings. Zippy had said that she, Zippy, painted them. Brent told me that Zippy signed all of the paintings in the apartment that Zippy and Kassandra once shared. Maybe Kassandra wants to be known as an artist and killed Zippy to take over her identity.” Although the evening was still warm, I shivered.
Samantha leaned forward and brushed sand off one shin. “Wouldn’t that be killing the goose that laid the golden egg?”
I frowned out at the lake, blue with silvery sparkles. “Maybe she thought she could paint as well as Zippy did, and the gallery wouldn’t notice.”
Misty demanded, “How could she pass the paintings off as hers if Zippy already showed them to Mr. Arthurs?”
I guessed, “Kassandra must not have known that Zippy had been trying to find a gallery. Kassandra could have planned to paint her signature over Zippy’s, but Zippy changed their apartment lock. Kassandra had a motive. She had the opportunity. And after she followed Zippy into Nina’s loft, she conveniently found the means. Kassandra is small, but she could have knocked over the ladder while Zippy was on it. Zippy’s wrists and ankle broke when she fell. After that, Kassandra might not have had much trouble dragging her out of sight of the door, restraining her, and putting the bucket of confectioners’ sugar over her head. But I’m afraid that Detective Gartborg can’t be bothered considering anyone besides Nina.”
Misty was silent for a moment. “She can, actually. I believe she and Brent want to talk to Kassandra Pyerson again, but . . . and I probably shouldn’t tell you this, either. They don’t know where she is.”
I said, “I know she didn’t show up at The Craft Croft today. Do you mean that Kassandra Pyerson is officially missing?”
“I’m not sure I’d word it that way. Brent doesn’t know where she is.”
I crossed my arms. “She killed Zippy, and she’s hiding from the police.”
Misty took her sunglasses off the top of her head and ran fingers through her long blond hair as if to hurry its drying. “Or she herself has met with foul play. I’m not saying that’s what happened, but we have to be open to all possibilities.”
I retorted, “We know that Nina didn’t hurt Kassandra. Nina’s been incarcerated since before I last saw Kassandra.”
Misty agreed and added, “That doesn’t mean that Nina didn’t kill Zippy. And just because we don’t know where Kassandra is doesn’t mean that anything has happened to her.”
“Well,” I grumbled, “since I know that Nina didn’t kill Zippy and you’re saying that Marvin Oarhill didn’t, either, that leaves Rodeo Rod, Marsha Fitchelder, and Kassandra Pyerson, and I’m betting it has to be Kassandra. Rodeo Rod could be merely flirtatious, and Marsha is caustic and annoying, but Kassandra’s the one with the strongest motive. She was nearby shortly
before Zippy was attacked, and she appears to have run away.”
“Maybe the other two have run away by now, too.” Although Misty’s tone was gentle, I thought I heard sympathy in it. “Brent will look into all of it.”
Samantha sat up as straight as she could in the relaxing Adirondack chair. “You’ll have to talk to him again, Emily, and convince him to look further into this Kassandra person.”
“I’m not good at convincing him of anything.”
“Not police work,” Misty said, “but you could wrap him around your little finger if you wanted to.”
It must have been my evening to be stubborn. “Maybe I don’t want to. Brent and I are not like Samantha and Hooligan.”
Looking at me, Samantha tilted her head. “Alec’s been gone a long time, Emily. Do you want to be alone for the rest of your life?”
“Yes.” Flustered, I admitted, “I don’t know. I don’t want to be disloyal to his memory.”
Misty threw me a sympathetic glance. “I can imagine what Alec would say about your being loyal to his memory and turning into a dried-up old prune.”
I repeated in mock horror, “Old prune!” My outburst caused Dep to leap off my lap into the sand. I managed to hang on to her leash.
Samantha eased out of her chair. “Alec would say he wanted you to be happy.”
I stood, too. “He did say that.”
Samantha picked up her water bottle. “It wouldn’t have to be Brent, but you two always seem to have such fun together—”
I flung my towel over one shoulder. “Not when we’re arguing about his cases.”
Misty accused, “Ha. You like doing that. And he does, too. You should see his face when he has to go talk to you. He looks happy and eager.”
I argued, “That was probably before Kim Gartborg came into his life.”
Misty pointed her water bottle at me. “And after, too. She’s not right for him. The least you can do for Alec’s best friend is save him from Detective Kimberly Gartborg.”
Beyond a Reasonable Donut Page 21
