by Ami Diane
The outlaw’s voice floated out from the bars. “I was aimin’ for you, you yellow, namby-pamby, flannel mouth.”
“Then your aim’s as lousy as your riding.” The sheriff dropped into his chair and kicked his boots onto his desk, tossing his derby hat aside. The movement was similar to Six’s a moment before and, not for the first time, did Ella think the two men had more in common than they would care to admit.
“What brings you by the station?” Chapman studied her with his steel-colored eyes.
“Right. The reason I came in.” Ella stood over his desk. Her hands rested on the marred surface, and she leaned close. “I know who killed Charles, and how to catch them.”
It was a long while before Chapman said anything. “Alright, I’m listening.”
Chapter 21
ELLA FIDGETED WITH the object in her pocket, watching the door to the church before glancing at her watch. Anytime now.
As if the Good Lord had heard her, the doors burst open, and churchgoers poured out, wearing their Sunday best. Even from across the street, Flo was easy to spot with her bouffant, backcombed extra high for the service.
Ella’s eyes quickly left her friend and swept over the crowd, finally spotting Patience. The woman had walked out with the reverend, jabbering without pausing for breath.
She didn’t have to hear the conversation to guess that the woman was haranguing him over some pedantic point of doctrine, which led Ella to wonder why the woman was there in the first place, attending the service of a different denomination than her own. She supposed, for the Puritan, going to any church service was better than not attending at all.
Wink and Flo crossed the street, trailing behind Rose and Jimmy. The two older women appeared to be deep in an argument over something. Ella felt a slight pang at not being with them, but she shoved aside the emotion, waiting for Patience to draw near.
The crowd thinned then dispersed, but a few lingered on the steps. When her friends were small figures in the distance and it seemed Patience would never leave the front of the white-steepled building, Ella let out a frustrated noise and stalked across the street. Why did the woman have to make everything so difficult?
“Good morning,” Ella greeted the reverend and the woman. “Patience, can I have a word?”
The woman’s eyes narrowed. “What hast thou to say to me? I must speak with this shepherd before he leads this flock astray, lest he becomes a wolf in sheep’s clothing.” She rounded on the man. “Thou are not an able minister of the New Testament. I condemn your words, you spirit of the antichrist.”
Ella tapped the councilwoman’s shoulder, causing her to whirl around. “Wink wants to chat about campaign stuff.”
“That wretched woman made no mention of this.”
“Well, she forgot to talk to you about it earlier. Said there hadn’t been enough time before the service. She hurried off to unlock the diner and asked if I could come get you.” The lie tasted bitter on her tongue.
Patience’s mouth and nose puckered like she smelled something vile, but she agreed to accompany Ella to Grandma’s Kitchen. The reverend’s shoulders dropped in relief, and he mouthed Thank you to Ella.
As the two clomped down the temporary planks from the sidewalk to the pavement, bypassing the creek in the road, Patience asked why Ella hadn’t been in church.
“Oh, well. You know….” Ella never finished the sentence.
“Thou will not entertain the saints. May the hearth of the devil keep you.”
“I bet you’re fun at parties,” Ella muttered, quickening her pace, so they’d arrive at the diner that much sooner.
As they passed the inn, she hoped nobody glanced out the window at that moment. She also hoped getting a confession out of the councilwoman wouldn’t take long as it was Wink’s turn to make the Sunday lunch, and Ella was starving.
She opened the diner door for Patience, having unlocked it just before she’d left. The closed sign in the window still faced out.
Inside, the bright lights gleamed off the counter and tables. The scent of burgers, fries, and malts lingered in the air.
“I doth not see her.”
“Have a seat. She’ll be right out.” Ella indicated the lunch counter.
Patience sank to a stool, her suspicious gaze never wavering from Ella—an action Ella found disconcerting.
Meanwhile, Ella swept around to the other side of the counter. “Milkshake?”
Patience shook her head, the white, simple linen cap atop her pinned hair wobbling where it had broken loose.
“Well, I want one.” Ella proceeded to make a chocolate milkshake. When she finished, she carried the stainless steel malt cup to the counter. The metal bit her skin with its icy touch.
As she pretended to search for napkins underneath the register, Ella slipped the object from her pocket and deposited it atop the ledger.
Straightening, she slurped her shake through a stainless steel straw. “This is delicious, if you don’t mind me tooting my own horn, but it’s not bragging if it’s true. Am I right?” The daggers from Patience’s eyes said she’d had just about enough of this charade.
Ella quickly changed tactics. “So, why do you suppose Charles was killed?”
The councilwoman’s mouth dropped. “I know not. To dwell on such a question would be to entertain evil.”
“Really? You don’t have any suspicions?”
“Where is that blasphemous woman? Hast thou lured me here under false pretense?”
Patience was more astute than Ella gave her credit for. A sigh escaped her chest. She was as skilled with drawing out information as she was making nearly anything in the kitchen.
Therefore, she decided to stick to her strengths. “Did you have Mr. Wilson killed because he knew your secret?”
Patience’s eyes bulged out of her skull. “How dare thee!”
“You can admit it, Patience. There’s no one here but me. I know your secret. I know you’re siphoning the town’s food supply to buy your way to the mayoral seat. Charles knew too, didn’t he? That’s what you two were arguing about in the study the night of the party, wasn’t it?”
“Thou were listening?”
“I walked past and overheard. You weren’t exactly being quiet about it.”
The Puritan’s face was a deep shade of scarlet rage. Her hands slid across the counter, and Ella tensed. “I didst not dispatch that man.” Her voice came out low and hoarse.
“I didn’t say you did. I asked why you had him killed. You may not have pulled the trigger, but you had someone else—”
Patience lunged, knocking over Ella’s milkshake with her body. A metal object gleamed at the corner of Ella’s vision, racing towards her head. She had a second to resolve the shape—the empty napkin dispenser—before it hit her temple.
Then, her world turned black.
Heat tickled Ella’s back, drawing her from a strange nightmare where a giant cheeseburger had murdered someone and was chasing her while an eery operetta played in the background.
Blinking away the darkness, she squinted until the diner came into focus. She sat on the checkered floor in Grandma’s Kitchen.
Around her, the floor and walls danced with a mix of shadows cast by a flickering light behind her. The heat at her back now seared, causing sweat to roll down, and she caught a whiff of something burning that ought not to be—like polyester or hair.
She craned her neck and shrieked. A fire burned in a pot on the floor behind her. Her shoes scrabbled for purchase over the linoleum as she tried to scoot away, only to discover her wrists were bound to one of the stools by an apron.
She wrenched, but the cloth held fast. The flames licked closer. Then, she noticed the figure in the kitchen doorway.
Ella coughed against the growing black smoke. “Patience, help.” Her voice came out raspy.
The moments before she’d been knocked unconscious came flooding back. Herself questioning the woman… Herself accusing the woman of killing Charles…
. Crap.
“You killed him.”
The councilwoman let out a growl of exasperation. “Hast thou no ears? I told thou thrice, I did not dispatch that man.”
“Then why am I tied up? And what’s with the campfire? Wink is going to be furious.” Ella inched as far away from the pot of flames as she could, but the heat and smoke continued to swelter and suffocate her. “If you wanted to make s’mores, you could’ve just said so. The inn has several places for fires, you know. Strangely enough, they’re called fireplaces.”
“Quiet, woman! Doth thou never dun’s the mouse?”
“Do I never shut up?” Ella interpreted. “No, not really.”
Patience lumbered forward. With one of her strangely-shaped shoes, she nudged the pot until the metal rested against Ella’s leg.
Ella yelped. “What are you doing, you crazy woman?!”
The apron-bindings rubbed into her flesh as she strained to gain more distance from the flames. Her jeans began to darken and smoke. She kicked at the pot.
A wild, animalistic look that reflected the fire danced in Patience’s eyes. She stalked closer, grabbed the pot handle, and poured the contents across the floor.
Liquid fire rolled towards Ella, and she screamed for help until her throat was raw. She stamped at the flames, but that only resulted in the fire spreading to her shoes. Whatever accelerant Patience had used was highly flammable.
The front door burst in. Sheriff Chapman ducked inside, his gun drawn. “Back up, Patience. Hands where I can see ‘em.”
“About damn time, John Wayne,” Ella hollered.
The Puritan’s face fell as if he’d just told her she couldn’t have seconds of her favorite dessert. She complied, slinking back, her head down.
Chapman kept one eye on her as he strode forward. With one sweep of his gaze, he assessed Ella’s predicament. His fingers groped at the apron now cutting into her flesh, but the fabric had been knotted tightly.
After leaping to his boots, he swept into the kitchen. Ella heard the jingle of his spurs mixed with the sound of drawers opening and utensils flying.
Patience seized her moment and fled. The bell jingled, and the councilwoman plunged into the rolling fog.
Chapman reappeared in the doorway, a butcher knife in one hand and several towels in the other. He threw the towels over the fire, stamping on them. The majority of the flames smothered, smoldering around the edges, while a few scattered fires persisted.
His holster creaked, and his joints popped as he dropped to his knee. The knife glinted in the cold light from the windows as he worked it through the fabric that bound her. He gave a grunt, and the blade finally sliced through her bindings, freeing her wrists.
Ella kicked herself across the floor using her half-melted shoes until she was well clear of the lingering, birthday candle-sized flames scattered about.
A sob choked in her throat. She coughed and wheezed, her hands caressing her chaffed wrists until she had full control of her emotions once again.
Chapman knelt beside her. “You alright?”
“She tried to burn me at the stake.” Her throat felt raw when she swallowed. “Or at the stool. This place is going to be the death of me.”
“Maybe if you hadn’t accused her of murder.”
“Heard that, did you?”
He lifted Flo’s borrowed walkie-talkie from his hip and placed it on the floor beside her. The other one was still under the register where she’d set it after making her milkshake.
“Could’ve been worse.”
“Worse? My shoes are ruined, and I have no more hair on my forearms.” Despite her trivial complaints, she knew she’d have to put ointment on her wrists and that it might be a while before she could be around fires again.
Her pulse was slowing to its more natural rhythm. She looked out across the floor. “Wink’s going to kill me. What do you think Patience used?”
Chapman lowered his face to the singed floor, sniffing. “Some kind of—what’s the professor call it? Propellant. Probably found it under the sink in the kitchen.”
“Patience ran out the door when you went into the kitchen, by the way.”
“I noticed. I suspected she might, but it was either take the chance of her running or tell Wink she’d be serving barbecued Ella for dinner. Still not sure I made the right decision.”
Her eyes widened. “Did you just make a joke? Hold on.” She dug around in her pockets, wincing at the sting caused by her skin brushing fabric.
“Whatcha doing?”
She pulled out her phone and pointed the lens at Chapman. “Tell your joke again.”
With a broad stroke, he shoved the phone out of his face. “Yep, I definitely made the wrong decision.”
He helped her to her feet.
“She won’t go far, right? I mean, she’s not going to cross the border and risk getting stranded in this fog for eternity. Although, it’d serve her right.”
He shrugged.
Together, they stamped out the rest of the stubborn flames. “You know,” she said, “in my time, there are these things called smoke detectors.”
“Not many places here have ‘em, but Wink does.” He pointed at the ceiling to an ancient detector with wires sticking out.
“Figures,” she muttered. They really needed a fire department in the town. Mentally, she made a list of improvements for Keystone, putting emergency services at the top, followed by a softball team. “As crazy as Patience is—which is completely bananas—and as much as it pains me to say this, I don’t think she hired Hort, after all.”
“Yeah, I heard that part of the conversation too.”
They stood in silence while Ella surveyed the damage, her shoulders drooping.
“I’ll make you a deal,” Chapman drawled. “I’ll tell Wink she’ll be needing a new floor if you try to clean up the mess. Try to make it look like—”
“Like there wasn’t a fire in the middle of her diner?” she finished. “Deal.”
He left through the front door, his spurs singing a merry tune in contrast to the somber mood in the railcar.
Ella retrieved a bucket and mop and slopped suds over the floor. Ordinarily when mopping, she liked to sing and reenact the part in Cinderella where the character sings amongst a swirl of soap bubbles while scrubbing the floor, but her heart wasn’t in it.
While she pushed the mop, she dwelled on her miscalculation about Patience’s involvement in Charles’s death.
What was she missing? Everything fit. The mop slowed to a crawl. No, not everything fit.
The note. It would make sense that Patience had written it to meet up again with Charles. But if she wasn’t the killer, then that meant someone else had either known about the candidates’ dispute and had used it as a ruse to lure Charles to the basement, or the note was arranging a meetup for an entirely different reason.
So, who was left? Had her gut been wrong about Sal?
Mucky water that looked like it came from the bottom of a pond dripped from the mop into the bucket. She hefted both mop and bucket, waddling, into the kitchen, careful not to slosh any over the sides.
There had been a third person in the vicinity at the time of the murder. Jenny. But the hairdresser’s only connection to the victim was that he was her landlord.
Still, she realized as she poured the water down the drain, it was all she had. Did Jenny know about the speakeasy?
Soon, steam rose from the faucet like the ever-present, oppressive fog outside.
Maybe she should dig deeper into Hort’s past and not dismiss him out of hand just because Patience turned out not to be a murdering psycho—a psycho, yes. But not a murdering one.
A shriek came from the diner, causing Ella to drop the bucket into the sink.
Wink had arrived.
After turning off the water, Ella wiped her hands over her mussed up sweatshirt then shuffled into the railcar.
“It’s not as bad as it looks,” she burst out before the door had finished op
ening.
Wink stood over the large swath of charred, curled linoleum that exposed plywood underneath.
“Really? Because it looks like someone set my diner on fire.”
“Okay, yes. But I was able to scrub some of the soot away. I mean, you should’ve seen it—” Ella stopped short.
“The floor’s ruined. Aside from the large hole, there’s smoke damage over most of it. And look how it’s bubbled over here.”
Ella nodded. “Looks like boils.” Upon seeing the apoplectic expression on her boss’s face, she added, “But in a good way. Just throw a rug over it. No one will notice. On an unrelated note, do you have insurance?”
The diner owner’s neck had turned a funny color, and Ella realized that for the first time, she was seeing the woman angry.
“Wink, I’m sorry. I’ll pay for the damage.”
“What in tarnation were you thinking, child? You used my diner for a sting and don’t bother to tell me? Then, you ruin my floor and nearly get yourself killed in the process! Why didn’t you come to me? I thought we were a team.”
The room crushed in around Ella, leaving her feeling small, like a scolded child. Her eyes stung, and when she spoke, she struggled to keep her words from catching. “We are a team. I just didn’t want to put you two in danger. Chapman was nearby, listening, so I wasn’t in any real danger of dying—” she squinted “—at least, I think not. Just maybe some third-degree burns.
“But you’re right. I should’ve talked to you first. Especially before I used this place. I truly am sorry. I was stupid, reckless, and inconsiderate.”
Wink let out a long breath that blew a strand of fuchsia hair out of her eyes. Her skin had returned to its normal hue.
She rested her hands on her hips and surveyed the damage. “Well, I’ve been wanting a new floor, anyway, so it’s not a total loss.”
Ella blinked back the tears that had been collecting at the corners and felt a great weight lift from her chest. “To be fair, you know it was only a matter of time before Flo burned it up, right?”
“Why do you think I had to replace it the first time?”
