Vice and Verdict

by Nic Saint

I was going to ask her how she knew all this but decided not to. Mabel obviously had her sources. “You don’t think she did it?” I asked instead.

  “Oh, no. Of course not.”

  “Do you… have any idea who did?”

  She gave me a radiant smile. “That’s for you to find out, isn’t it, dear? You and those karma hunting brothers of yours?”

  Both Lucien and I blinked in shock, but Mabel kept on walking, then threw open a door to the left, and announced, “Here we are! Cheryl! Visitors!” She leaned in and whispered faux-conspiratorially, “It’s the Diffley sleuths!”

  Chapter 26

  Cheryl Egret was a smallish woman with spiky red hair and raccoon-style mascara. When we came upon her, she rocketed out of her chair and greeted us nervously. It soon became obvious that her jittery demeanor was inspired by Mabel and not Lucien and I, for the moment the formidable mayoral secretary had left, Cheryl soon settled down and invited us to take a seat.

  “I’m sorry for barging in here like this,” I said, “but we have a couple of questions about your friend Kandace Slaker.”

  At the mention of the name, her smile vanished. “Kandace? What do you want to know?”

  Lucien and I took the offered seats, two metal chairs across the desk from Cheryl. I glanced around. The space was quite sparse, at least compared to Mabel’s office, and I wondered if this was Cheryl’s personal space or simply one of many offices occupied by Town Hall staff. I did notice a small dinosaur on the desk, and judging from its shape it had been produced by a child’s hand from papier mâché rather than churned out by one of the toy giants.

  “I don’t know if you’ve heard, but Kandace died,” I said, trying to break the news as gently as possible.

  Cheryl nodded once. “I know. I think by now everybody knows. It’s been all over the news all day yesterday and even this morning as I was driving into work it was all the radio news anchor could talk about.”

  “The thing is, we were at Bell’s Bakery just now, and a man told us that you and Kandace had a big fight the other day. So we were simply wondering…”

  “What that was all about?” She gave a short humorless laugh. “Of course you would. So I’m suspect number one now, am I? Is that why you’re here? Well, I can promise you that I didn’t kill her. I might not have liked her a great deal, but I would never…” Her voice faltered and she heaved a silent sob, then took out a well-used handkerchief and pressed it to her eyes. The raccoon mascara left stains on the handkerchief but Cheryl didn’t seem to mind.

  “We understand how hard this must be for you, Mrs. Egret,” said Lucien, surprising me with the gentleness and compassion obvious in his voice.

  “It’s so hard. Especially since the last time we talked we had this terrible row. She was my friend, you see. Even though she could also be a real pain in the patootie.”

  “What did you two fight about, exactly?” I asked.

  She shook her head, and dabbed at her eyes some more, smudging her face with the black gunk. “The thing is, Kandace had become very successful in a very short time. Success, as the cliché goes, had unfortunately gone to her head.”

  “You mean she’d become complacent?” asked Lucien.

  “She’d become downright obnoxious. I’m on the high school reunion committee? And when I asked Kandace to be my co-chair, she said she didn’t have time for trivial nonsense like reunions. Can you believe that?”

  “Is that what you were arguing about at Bell’s?” I asked.

  She nodded. “I told her to stop being such a self-absorbed skank and she practically exploded. Called me some horrible names. The thing is, when I told her at least she should attend the reunion, you know what she said?”

  “No, what?” asked Lucien, hanging on the woman’s every word.

  “She said she would only come if we paid her! Said that she was a celebrity now and she wasn’t going to show her face for free. She demanded ten thousand dollars for a meet-and-greet at the reunion or she wasn’t coming.”

  “That’s tough,” said Lucien. “That must have upset you a great deal.”

  “It did! We were besties all through high school—then lost touch when she went off to college—but when she graduated and became a beauty vlogger I supported her all the way. And then she pulled this crap on me?”

  “What did she say when you called her a self-absorbed skank?” asked Lucien, on the edge of his seat. This stuff was right up his alley.

  “She said I was an ungrateful asshole, and she was done being my friend. So I slapped her across the face, she slapped me, and that’s when Felicity had to step in before we did any more damage.” She buried her face in her hands. “I’m so ashamed of what happened. That was the last time we talked.”

  “You couldn’t have known that,” I said soothingly.

  “Saffron is right. You didn’t know,” said Lucien. “And for what it’s worth, I think you were right to draw first blood. The woman was simply intolerable!”

  “Wasn’t she?” asked Cheryl softly, then blew her nose in the handkerchief. “Fame had changed her. I didn’t recognize her anymore. The things she did and the stuff she said. That wasn’t the Kandace I once knew and loved.”

  “Fame can really mess people up,” said Lucien, as if he were the expert.

  Cheryl eyed us sheepishly. “I’m so sorry for my outburst.”

  “Oh, no, darling,” said Lucien. “It’s perfectly understandable. You can’t keep emotions like that bottled up forever. You have to let them out—share them with a dear, dear friend.”

  “That’s just the thing,” she said. “Kandace was my best friend. And now she’s gone.” She sniffed. “So do you still think I killed her?”

  “Of course not,” Lucien assured her. “No way did you do that to your best friend.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Diffley,” said Cheryl. “You’re so kind.”

  “Just call me Lucien. And if you ever need a shoulder to cry on…” He patted his own shoulder smartly. “Look no further.”

  “Thanks, Lucien.” She heaved a sigh of relief. “It feels good to let it all out.”

  “Of course it does. And don’t worry about the police. I will personally tell Logan Munroe that he should scratch you off his list of suspects.”

  “Lucien,” I said warningly.

  “Logan Munroe? Is he the detective in charge?”

  “He is. And a regular brute he is, too.” He leaned in and patted Cheryl’s hand. “But don’t worry about a thing, honey. I’ll talk to that brutish caveman and tell him to pipe down or else he’ll have to answer to Lucien Diffley!”

  Yep. That would make Logan quake in his boots.

  Chapter 27

  The moment we stepped out of Cheryl’s office, after pressing her hand and Lucien giving her his phone number, we heard the noise. It was as if the peace and relative quiet of Town Hall had been rudely disturbed and a stampede of buffalo or some other wild animal was roaring down the halls and corridors.

  I turned to Lucien. “Do you hear that?”

  “I do. Maybe they’re holding a fire drill?”

  It sounded like a fire drill, only I hadn’t heard the fire alarm go off.

  We proceeded along the hallway back to the entrance and that’s when we saw a group of little boys and girls running along the entrance hall, loudly shouting and screaming, their faces lit up with glee, and their teachers trying to bring back a measure of control by shouting at the top of their voices.

  I recognized Mrs. Rinsky and felt a twinge of alarm shoot through me. The middle-aged lady is Rodrick’s teacher, and a long-suffering member of faculty at Happy Bays Middle School, enduring Rodrick’s many creative schemes to bring some life and fun into his time spent at school.

  The heavyset white-haired woman was doing her best to herd the children of her class together but wasn’t having a lot of luck. I wondered what the cause of this minor gathering was, so I approached Rodrick’s teacher.

  “What’s going on here?” I asked,
raising my voice above the hubbub.

  “We’re having our annual Town Hall field trip,” she said, a brave smile on her face. “Demonstrating small-town democracy at work.”

  “But why are they all out of control?”

  Her smile faltered. “They’re not out of control, Miss Diffley. They’re simply a little excited about being here. Especially since we promised them a visit to the Mayor himself.” She shook her head. “For some reason they’ve gotten it into their heads that Mayor MacDonald is a member of the Avengers and they’re hoping he will introduce them to the others.”

  “The others?” I asked, yelling to be heard over the din.

  “Well, I’m not an expert on these so-called Avengers, Miss Diffley, but it appears they’re expecting to meet the Incredible Hulk, Iron Man, Black Widow, Captain America and Thor, amongst others.”

  “I wonder who started that rumor,” I said, though I already knew the answer to that one, of course. Rodrick.

  A little girl walked up to me, and tugged on my sleeve. I bent down until I was at eye level with her. “Are you the Black Widow?” she asked.

  “No, I’m not. I’m Saffron.”

  “Oh.” She seemed only mildly disappointed. Then, with renewed fervor, she insisted, “You are the Black Widow, aren’t you?”

  “No, I’m not. Though thank you for the compliment.”

  “But you look like her!”

  “I’m sorry—what’s your name?”

  “Angie. You have to help me, Black Widow.”

  “But I’m not—”

  “Bernie is attacking my friend Mary—you have to save her!”

  She pointed at a little boy who was pulling at a little girl’s hair.

  “I want you to hit Bernie and make him stop!”

  “But—”

  She folded her sticky little fingers into mine and gave me a pleading look. “I want you to hit Bernie so hard he flies straight through those glass windows over there and comes out the other side. Please help me, Mrs. Black Widow?”

  I decided to give up the argument. Instead, I approached Bernie and tapped him on the shoulder. He turned with an angry scowl. “What do you want?!”

  “I want you to stop pulling Mary’s hair,” I said.

  “Well, I don’t want to!” he returned, and gave the girl’s hair another yank.

  Remembering my own days fighting off bullies like Bernie, I decided the time for drastic measures had come. So I simply picked the little bully up from the ground, wrenched his grubby fingers from Mary’s golden hair, then carried him to a corner of the hall. He was kicking and screaming but I didn’t care. I then plunked him down next to the statue of Mayor MacDonald and said, “And now you’ll stay here and think about what you’ve done, Bernie!”

  “You’re not the boss of me!” he yelled. “You’re not even a teacher!”

  “I’m more than a teacher. I’m Black Widow!”

  His eyes went wide and he gasped audibly. “Black Widow!”

  “Yes. And if you don’t want me to call in Thor and have him drop you on some remote planet plunged in darkness for all eternity with only scary alien creatures to keep you company, I suggest you behave from now on.”

  He didn’t utter a peep after that so I walked away, basking in the glow of Angie and Mary’s grateful smiles. I hadn’t drop-kicked Bernie through the picture window, but I think he would think twice before bullying his friends.

  Just then, there was a loud squawk overhead, and to my surprise I saw first a big, crimson parrot streak by, and then a tubby little man race after him, his face red as a tomato, his hands grabbing at the air, seemingly in pursuit of the red bird.

  I recognized the tubby little man as Mayor MacDonald, and the bird as Moe, the Mayor’s pet parrot. And that’s when I saw two little boys chasing after the mayor. They were Rodrick and Barnum, Felicity Bell’s cousin. They seemed very excited about the parrot, and when they came racing past, I grabbed Rodrick and scooped him up. “What’s going on?” I demanded.

  “I did my good deed for the day!” he yelled happily. “I set the bird free!”

  I dropped Rodrick to the floor, and, like the Road Runner, the moment his frantic feet touched the ground, he was off and away at a great rate of speed.

  I shook my head and made my way over to Mrs. Rinsky.

  “I’m afraid my little brother has set that bird free, Mrs. Rinsky,” I confessed.

  The elderly lady’s lips tightened. “I knew it!”

  “Well, he and Barnum Bell,” I said.

  She closed her eyes and shook her head. “Retirement has never sounded so sweet.” Then her eyes sprang open and she went in pursuit of Rodrick and Barnum, who were in pursuit of Mayor MacDonald, who was in pursuit of his pet parrot Moe.

  I decided not to get involved. Black Widow knows how to pick her battles.

  Unlike the teachers scrambling to return order to the chaos, Lucien, I saw, was having a whale of a time. He was avidly filming the altercation, following both the flight plan of Moe the parrot and the ground forces trying to capture the bird. Moe, meanwhile, seemed to be enjoying his freedom thoroughly. So maybe Rodrick had done a good deed, after all. Just like me with Bernie.

  And I was inching towards the door when my phone vibrated in my pocket. When I pressed it to my ear, Dalton yelled something I couldn’t comprehend because of all the noise in the entrance hall. I quickly passed through the glass doors into the great open space outside. “Come again?”

  “I found Blas Storer, Saf.”

  “Oh, great. Did you ask him about Kandace Slaker?”

  “I didn’t have a chance to talk to him.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because he’s dead. Has been dead for days.”

  Chapter 28

  We were back in the hills of Bethlehem Heights, and this time the police presence was even more impressive than before. Logan was there, coordinating with his colleagues, the coroner had arrived and was wading into the water with her yellow rubber boots, and of course a bunch of officers were policing the crime scene to keep onlookers and disaster tourists at bay.

  Lucien, Dalton and I were standing in a copse of beech trees, overlooking Beacon Pond, the small lake so popular with hikers and fishers. The crystal cool clear water and overhanging rock formations turn it into a great place to go for a swim once the last remnants of winter have left these shores and summer is in the air.

  “Are you sure it’s Blas Storer?” I asked Dalton.

  “Oh, I’m sure,” said Dalton.

  “How did you find him, exactly?”

  “Well, I decided to have another chat with the wife—or ex-wife. Turns out both she and Blas were avid geocachers and had trackers installed on their phones in case they needed to find each other. So I asked her to track Blas’s phone and she did. It turned up at the bottom of Beacon Pond, which surprised me, as there are no geocaches here, at least according to Mrs. Storer. So I had a look-see and—”

  “And went for a swim and discovered Blas’s pickup,” said Lucien.

  “Nah. I called the cops. Put our hard-earned tax dollars at work.”

  I patted him on the shoulder. “Good thinking, Dalton.”

  We watched as the truck was now winched out of the lake and deposited on the shore. A man was sitting inside the cabin, and he did not look alive.

  “So Blas Storer was dead all this time?” asked Lucien.

  “Yeah—the thing is, I took another gander at the Karma Corps case order and I must have misread the first time. I thought it said Missing Person. Instead it said Dead Person. Isn’t that funny?”

  He took out the piece of parchment and unfolded it. And sure enough, there, neatly written in a calligrapher’s hand, it said ‘Blas Storer. Dead Person.’

  “Turns out he died two days ago, around the same time your Dead Person died. Isn’t that the funniest thing in the world?”

  When nor Lucien or me burst out laughing, his grin crumpled.

  “You could have told us,�
� Lucien grumbled. “All this time we thought Blas Storer was our main suspect. And now he’s dead? What a washout!”

  Dalton gave us a sheepish look. “Well, it doesn’t matter, does it? I mean, I found him. Mission accomplished.”

  “That’s not the point,” I said. “The point is to figure out who killed him.”

  He blinked. “Oh. Right. So? Who do you think did it?”

  “No idea,” I admitted. “This case has just gotten a lot more mysterious.”

  “Do you think it’s the same person that killed Kandace?” asked Lucien.

  “Well, if they died around the same time, it stands to reason that their deaths are linked. Especially since they were out here geocaching together.”

  The cops had opened the truck and the three of us moved closer to have a look. The sight was not a pleasant one. It was Blas Storer, all right, and his waterlogged demise had done nothing to improve his boyish good looks.

  “Yep, he’s dead,” said Dalton after a knowing glance. “Very dead.”

  The medical examiner gave Dalton a look of annoyance. “Is that your professional opinion, Mr. Diffley?”

  “Oh, yes,” Dalton assured her. “Just look at him. He looks dead. Very dead indeed.”

  “I know he’s dead,” the coroner grumbled, and snapped her rubber gloves into place.

  I shivered slightly, as a couple of fishes came wriggling from the wreck of the pickup and hopped back into the lake.

  “Not a pleasant way to go,” I said.

  “Oh, I don’t know about that,” said Dalton airily. “I think it must be nice to go out swimming.”

  I heaved a silent groan. Dalton was not the most sensitive of people, and I dreaded the moment he started questioning suspects and interviewing witnesses. I turned to him. “I’ve got an idea.”

  “You do? That’s great.”

  “Why don’t Lucien and I handle this investigation? I mean, it’s obvious that the deaths of Kandace and Blas are connected. And that they were probably murdered by the same person. So if we solve one murder we solve both. If that makes sense.”