by Donna Doyle
Sammy hadn’t been so sure at the time, but she was now. When she’d gotten off work, she knew she had to do something about Harold Woodland’s death. She couldn’t bring him back to life, and she might not even be able to find his killer. But she could bring cookies and condolences to his widow, something she should’ve done much sooner.
As she splashed through the puddles on her way to the address on Harold’s business card, Sammy wondered just how rough things had been between the late contractor and his wife. Julia Richardson indicated they had plenty of troubles. She might have known that to be true, or she might’ve been exaggerating to make a better story. Sammy would find out soon enough.
She slowed down on Lincoln Street, looking for the right address. It was easy to find once she noticed the large sign in the front yard that read, “Harold Woodland, Contractor.” The house number was only secondary information after that. It was a cute little place, painted yellow with white shutters. The window boxes and the flowerbeds that bordered the curving walkway were empty, waiting for the spring weather, but Sammy imagined it looked quite nice during the summer. A blue sedan with Tracy Woodland’s initials on the license plate sat in the driveway in front of the garage, and Sammy parked behind it. “At least I know she’s home.”
She’d brought cookies and soup, thinking that would be appropriate for both the weather and the widow. Instead of putting the cookies in a plain white box, Sammy had put them on a nice metal Christmas tray she’d found in the diner and covered with festive plastic wrap. The soup was in one of the typical takeout containers they used at Just Like Grandma’s, which meant she had to be a bit careful with it to make sure it wouldn’t spill. It was nice and warm as she carried it up to the door. Sammy should feel good about this errand, but something in the pit of her stomach was disagreeing with her. The bad feeling oozed through her bloodstream and made her hand shake as she reached up to knock.
The lights were on in the house, visible in the glass panes on either side of the door. Sammy thought she could hear the faint sound of the television, but there was no answer. She knocked a little harder, not wanting to be rude but also not wanting to stand out on the porch forever. Waiting patiently, she examined the front of the house. It looked to be quite cute from the street, but up close Sammy could see that it needed quite a bit of repair. The white paint on the door was chipped, and part of the knocker was missing. The button on the doorbell was cracked, and the shutter on the nearest window hung at an odd angle. Sammy’s brow creased, wondering why a contractor wouldn’t have fixed these minor details on his own house, considering he must’ve known how. Of course, that could’ve been part of the problems he and his wife had.
When there was still no answer, Sammy was about ready to give up when she noticed a sign to the left of the door. “Office” was stenciled out in faded red letters, and an arrow painted underneath it pointed to the left. While Sammy doubted anyone was in the office at this time of night, and especially now that Mr. Woodland was gone, she hadn’t come all this way for nothing.
She stepped down off the porch toward the driveway, continuing on around the corner of the garage until she found a small building in the back. It had another faded sign over the door, and all the lights were on. Sammy poked her head inside.
She immediately wished she hadn’t. A woman—whom she could only assume was Mrs. Woodland—was there, but she sat in a desk chair with a terrified look on her face. The muzzle of a gun was pressed against her temple. Sammy’s eyes slowly followed the hand that held the gun up the adjoining arm until she saw who the owner was.
“Garrett, what are you doing?” Sammy whispered.
The pistol immediately pointed at her. “Get in here, and shut the door behind you!”
Sammy did as she was told, inwardly chiding herself for not going to Sheriff Jones right away. He might’ve made fun of her or even gotten angry with her, but that would’ve been better than having a gun pointed at her head. She slowly shut the door, still balancing the food in her free hand. “Just put the gun down, Garrett. I don’t know what you think you’re going to accomplish here, but this isn’t the way to do it.”
The worker took a step back, swiveling his pistol so he could point it easily at either of the women. “I wouldn’t need to do it this way if she just would’ve cooperated! All I needed was a good reference on company letterhead, backdated a few days so it would look like it came from Harold. That’s not so hard!”
Tracy Woodland, her mouth a thin line and her dark hair tousled, was stiff in her chair. “And I might have helped you if you hadn’t been so darn rude about it!”
“Don’t you dare talk to me about rude! The only thing your husband ever did was boss me around like I was some untalented grunt. And every time I tried to speak up, he just reminded me that he knew my past.” Garrett’s eyes were wild, and the gun shook slightly in his hand.
Sammy’s lungs refused to work on their own, and she had to take a deliberate breath before speaking. “What about your past?”
His face scrunched in anger. “I guess I might as well say, because it doesn’t matter now. I’m a convicted felon, and Harold hired me anyway. Acted like he was really doing me a favor, but he just wanted to use it as blackmail so he wouldn’t have to pay me as much and he could get more work out of me. He said if I gave him too much lip, he’d tell the whole town and ruin what little reputation I had. I was so tired of it!”
“Is that why you killed him?” Tracy asked bitterly without turning to look at her captor. “I wasn’t sure at first, but I definitely am now.”
“It’s not as though you really care he’s gone,” Garrett retorted. “I know the two of you had problems. Everyone did, and that’s why I thought the police would go straight to you as soon as they discovered he was dead.”
“They didn’t suspect me because I didn’t kill him!” Tracy snapped.
“Okay, how about everyone just calms down.” Sammy noticed that several sheets of letterhead were scattered across the top of the desk, proving what Garrett had come here for. It made sense, considering that he’d already told her he was leaving for a bigger town to get a new job. As much as she would have liked to leave, she knew it wasn’t the right thing to do. Leaving these two here with their tempers would only end badly. She took a hesitant step forward.
Garrett swiveled the gun to point at her. “Stop right there! I don’t know why you’re here, but you’ve got really bad timing.”
“You’re right.” Sammy took a deep breath, her mind reeling as she tried to think of what to do. “I shouldn’t be here. Do you want me to leave?”
“Do you think I’m stupid? You’ll just call the cops. Give me your cell phone.”
“Okay. It’s in my coat pocket. I’ll have to set these things down.” Sammy had the container of soup in one hand and the tray of cookies in the other. She dared to look away from the gunman for a moment and down at the soup, noticing that the takeout container had once again failed to hold up to the trip. It was a long shot, but it was her best chance at getting herself out of this mess.
Sammy took another step forward, ostensibly toward the desk to set the soup down. But she lunged forward, squeezing the plastic container as hard as she could in her hand and thrusting her arm out. The hot liquid sloshed out onto Garrett, and he reeled backward to get away from it. His right hand flew up into the air, firing a shot into the ceiling. Drywall dust rained down.
Dropping the plastic container, Sammy took another step forward. Her arms and legs moved on their own now, and she wasn’t even sure what she was doing as she whipped the metal cookie tray across Garrett’s face. She couldn’t possibly hit him hard enough to knock him out, but he was stunned.
Seeing what was happening, Tracy shot to her feet. She grabbed Garrett’s arm, wrestling the gun out of his hand.
He was sprawled on the floor now, and he sneered at Mrs. Woodland. “Do you even know how to use that thing?”
She tipped the gun up and shot the face of th
e clock on the wall. “Yep. Seems I do.” Tracy looked at Sammy. “I hope you actually have your phone with you.”
“I do.” She took it out of her pocket, not quite believing what had just happened even though she’d been a part of it.
“Good. Harold turned off the phone line out here a few months ago, and I don’t want to have to sit out here all night waiting for the police to come.” She frowned down at the man on the floor, who was covered in soup broth and sugar sprinkles. “Too bad you had to waste all that good food.”
“Come by the diner sometime. You can have a meal on me.” She phoned the sheriff’s department.
10
Mix Well
“Thank you so much for coming. It’s so nice to have you here.” Sammy greeted everyone as they came in the door of Sunny Cove Services. The opening party was turning out to be much larger than she could’ve imagined. Austin had been the first to sign up as a new employee, and several other people were waiting in line near the office door to do their paperwork, each one with a cookie in hand.
“I like this!” Austin exclaimed at her side.
“I do, too. Do you think you’ll like working with other people?”
He bobbed his head. Austin had come a long way from the first time she’d met him, when he was just a scared young man running away from the cops because he’d been accused of stealing. More of his true personality showed every time she talked to him, and Sammy was so happy she was helping him out. “Uncle Mitch says he’s really happy for me.”
“Good. I have to talk to a few people. Are you all right for a minute?”
“I’m going to get another cookie!” Austin made a beeline for the food table.
Sonya McTavish slipped in the side door, dressed in a sleek black dress. She’d piled her hair on top of her head in a fancy updo, and she tapped Sammy on the shoulder. “Nice little party. It looks like you guys are going to be very good neighbors.”
“I really hope so,” Sammy said with a smile. “And I’m glad you’re here. I wanted to ask you what it would cost to rent out one of the theaters sometime. Once we get a workforce, I’d like to treat them all to a movie.”
Sonya flicked her long red fingernails in the air. “For you, absolutely nothing. I like what you’re doing here, Sammy. We need more people like you in our community.” She sauntered off to go talk to the mayor, who had just arrived with his wife.
A tug on her arm made her turn, and Sammy was surprised to see Julia Richardson standing next to her. Just like Sonya, she’d come overdressed for the occasion in a pink skirt suit and tiny hat that looked like something right out of the Kennedy White House.
“Mrs. Richardson! I didn’t expect you here!”
“And why not, dear? This was the last project my cousin Harold did, after all. I thought it was worth it to come and see, maybe as just my own little tribute to him. I’m glad to see it’s actually finished, too.”
Sammy didn’t tell her about the trim pieces Mr. Lowry had finished nailing in. That could be her little secret if it made Julia feel better about Mr. Woodland. “It looks great, doesn’t it?”
“It sure does. I have to admit I’m also here for the free cookies, and to tell you congratulations on the case.” Mrs. Richardson gave her a knowing smile.
“What happened was purely accidental,” she assured the other woman. “I just happened to be in the right place at the right time.”
“Or the wrong place at the wrong time.” Sheriff Jones loomed over the both of them now. Sammy hadn’t even seen him arrive.
“I’ll leave you two to talk.” Julia winked at Sammy and scuttled over to the food table.
Sheriff Jones waited until she was gone before he said anything more. “I’m pretty sure I asked you to stay out of this.”
“And I tried, sort of. I’d really just gone over there to give her my condolences. It was the right thing to do, especially since I was the one who’d found Harold and he’d been working for me when he died.” She knew she didn’t need to feel defensive about it. Some in the town were calling her a local hero, mostly prompted by Tracy Woodland who insisted that Sammy had saved her life. Sammy didn’t want any of that kind of attention, but she hadn’t really done anything wrong.
“That may be so, but you still put yourself in a very dangerous position.”
“I suppose this all means that the paper in his pocket wasn’t a suicide note after all?” she asked, trying to steer the conversation away from herself.
He took a deep breath and sighed. “No, it wasn’t. It was probably more of an apology note. The two of them fought a lot, from what Mrs. Woodland told us. Harold would sometimes write her a note to say he was sorry, and they’d just had an argument before he left the house that morning.”
She smiled a little as she thought of the grumpy contractor writing little notes to his wife. “That’s good to know.”
The sheriff’s face was stern. “But you still shouldn’t have gotten involved. I’m worried that one of these days you’re going to get hurt. That’s my job.”
“What? To worry about me or to get hurt?”
He looked at her for a long moment before he answered. “Both, I suppose.”
Sammy couldn’t really argue with that. “Look, I really am sorry. I didn’t mean to cause any trouble, and you have to admit that you also encouraged me to figure it all out. Otherwise, why sit there for an hour with me talking about the suspects?”
The tiniest of smiles changed his lips. “Yes, that must have been what it was.” He cleared his throat. “I’m on duty, and I’ve got to get back to the station. But I did want to stop by and say congratulations. This is going to be really good for Austin and anyone else in his position. You’re going to do great.”
“Thanks.”
Sheriff Jones left as Rob approached her. “Well, partner, what do you think? I’d say we actually did it.” He looked around the room proudly.
“I wouldn’t go talking too soon. I mean, we have yet to see how many people will want to come and work for us, and we have no idea how many people will be willing to use our services.” The idea of giving meaningful jobs to the disabled was one that Sammy really liked, but she had no way of knowing if it would actually go over well. What if there weren’t enough people in their area like Austin? What if they didn’t get enough support from the community? The grant was enough to get them started, but they needed people to be sustainable.
“I don’t think you need to worry about that. I just took a break from signing up new employees, and it looks like more are lining up.” He nodded toward the office, where a young woman was passing out clipboards to everyone who had formed a line outside the door. “I brought in a candidate for manager that I think you’re going to like, too. She’s worked in social services before, and she had some very good references. Of course, I haven’t officially given her the job, not without your approval, but I thought it would be good to invite her here and see how she does.
“So far, so good I’d say.” Sammy felt warmth rush through her as she watched the woman talking to and interacting with the employment candidates. Sammy couldn’t hear anything from her position on the other side of the room, and the crowd was also fairly noisy, but she could see by the looks on everyone’s faces that they were getting along just fine.
“I also happen to know of a good-sized law firm that could use help with its document shredding,” Rob added.
“That’s very kind of you.”
“It might look that way, but it’s really just a good business decision. Why should I pay my current employees to stand at a shredder when their skills could be put to use elsewhere? It’ll be very cost effective, and I don’t think anyone will mind a little of the work being taken off their shoulders. I’m suggesting it to everyone I know. Considering that we’re a non-profit, there shouldn’t be any legal issues with that.”
“You’ve thought of everything,” Sammy replied. She excused herself to get a drink and found Helen near the cookie table. �
�What do you think?”
Her boss took a bite of a snickerdoodle. “I think you must be a better woman than I am, considering you managed to teach Austin how to bake. Oh, honey, this is fabulous. You should have your picture in the paper.”
“I already did, and it wasn’t a flattering one,” Sammy reminded her. The news van had shown up to Tracy Woodland’s house in response to the shots fired, and they’d chosen to put a picture of a rather frazzled Sammy on the late night evening news. “I think it’s better if I stay out of the news.”
“And how about your new friend? Is she doing all right?” Helen was referring to Mrs. Woodland, who despite her cold attitude during the standoff had been very warm and thankful to Sammy ever since.
“She’s coping really well, I think. She also volunteered to come in and teach our employees about secretarial skills like answering the phone and filling out paperwork. She said she wanted to find some way to contribute.” It had all been a very strange string of events, but it was turning out nicely.
“I think you’ll have more and more of that as you continue with this and people see what you’re doing here,” Helen said approvingly. “Good job, Sammy. Just like always.”
“Thanks, Helen.”
* * *
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