Reggie’s puzzled look morphed into embarrassment when Irinia said, “You’re very astute. Sadly, our untimely engagement comes on the coattails of Edith’s passing, but it’s official.”

  He mumbled affirmatives and ushered her from the room. The door closed with a snick.

  “That’s a lot to take in,” said Jane. “What do you think?”

  Before I could answer, Galen’s voice boomed from the foyer. “We’re back.”

  We left the parlor and chuckled at Gray’s futile attempt to calm the dogs, culminating with nails clacking and scraping across the tile, bounding and barking, until they heard a shrill whistle and immediately settled.

  The tap of the cane preceded CJ’s entrance. He stood in the doorway, crossed his arms, and fixed love-filled eyes on his daughter. Kindra and Patricia appeared on the landing. Carlee’s smile lit the room. She walked across the foyer with her arm looped through Galen’s and waved at us with her other hand. “I’ve got to get ready for my grandparents’ visit,” she said and disappeared upstairs.

  “She looks great.” Jane threaded her arm through CJ’s.

  “She does.” He beamed.

  Sheriff Zasko knocked on the door behind CJ and Jane. They turned and stepped to the side. “Good morning, folks. We’d like to take fingerprints from everyone. Procedure, you know.” He removed his hat. “Dr. Bluestone, do you have a minute?”

  He escorted CJ to the dining room and closed the door. Jane looked to Deputy Gray for some kind of answer as he unpackaged what he needed to fulfill his duty. He pursed his lips and shrugged.

  After Gray took my fingerprints, I dashed upstairs to the bathroom, removed the vent, and panicked for a second when I had to root around for the box because it had slipped farther into the air duct. I cradled the box in my arm and returned to the foyer. Jane tilted her head quizzically but within a few seconds, the door slid to the side and CJ emerged, sans smile. He raised his chin, gritted his teeth, and lowered his shoulders. He exhaled slowly. “I am relieved Carlee is better, but it was not food poisoning. It was deliberate. They found the taffy favored by Carlee and Edith, and most likely Davy too, doctored with an herbicide.

  Zasko remained seated at the table, turning pages in a small notebook, and scribbling. I approached him with trepidation. “Sheriff?”

  “Katie, I’m very busy. Be quick.”

  I placed the box on the table in front of him. “When you opened it—”

  “Not another one. The confetti blew all over. I didn’t find it particularly funny.” He frowned.

  “Confetti?” I squinted, as if it could help me understand. “Don’t you think the last will and testament is important?”

  “What are you talking about?” He tossed his pen and leaned back in the chair. “Tiny bits of paper do not a will make.”

  I picked up the box and examined each of the sides. Once again following the encoded instructions on the bottom, I slid the front face to one side. I peeled off the topmost page—the last will and testament of Edith Farthington—and flattened it out in front of the sheriff.

  His eyes opened wide, and he raised one eyebrow. He extracted and donned nitryl gloves and gave me a look, as if I’d disappointed him again by tainting the evidence. He perused the paper and dropped his head in his hand. He picked up the box. “Where did you find this?”

  “On the table next to the grandfather clock in the foyer.”

  Neatness calmed my nerves. I nabbed the pen and lined it up parallel to the edge of the table.

  Sheriff Zasko cast a baffled look at me. “Although it looks much the same, this isn’t the box from the living room.” He grunted. “Our technician is not very patient. She used brute force to open the box and there must have been a self-destruct mechanism.”

  “You never saw anything but confetti?”

  “We did not.”

  “What about all the envelopes?”

  “I’d like you to write down what you remember about the contents. However, this …” He tapped the document. “Have you read it?” I shook my head, insulted by his insinuation, and a little angry at myself for missing the opportunity. He diligently removed the rest of the contents piece by piece and scowled, studying the papers, envelopes, and finally dumped a key on the table in front of him.

  While the sheriff picked over the items, I wriggled to scan the words ‘William Zasko,’ and ‘Reginald Farthington’ on the cover page of the will but when Sheriff Zasko looked up, he narrowed his eyes, curled the corner of the will over his fist. and said, “You are free to go.” He lowered his gaze. “And thank you,” he added.

  Dismissed. Again.

  I chuffed, and as I headed to the door, tossed a comment over my shoulder, “Jane bought me a puzzle box yesterday when she was downtown.”

  The sheriff stood quickly. His chair squawked and scraped and tipped dangerously close to crashing to the floor. He seized the top rail to keep it from toppling and said with forced pleasantness. “Please go get Ms. Mackey.”

  Deputy Gray halted in his task of removing the yellow tape from the living room door and scratched his chin as I bolted up the stairs. I collected my gift, at the last minute remembering the other pieces of taffy I’d tossed on the shelf in the closet and grabbed Jane.

  We hustled into the dining room to cool the simmering sheriff. Standing in front of him like recalcitrant children in line for a scolding, Jane exhaled loudly and dropped into a seat, waiting not too patiently. Sheriff Zasko had sorted the papers. One, a pile of envelopes yellowed with age banded together with a piece of yarn, and the other, random handwritten pages. From where I stood, words on the loose pages he’d organized on the table screamed read me.

  He caught me craning my neck, attempting to unravel the string of characters in front of him, and luckily for me, Lauren appeared with a pitcher of ice water crammed with lemon slices. In her discontented haste to avoid contact, she sloshed water onto the sideboard and groaned. Using the corner of her apron to wipe the spill, she glanced at the boxes on the table. “Nicki does great work, doesn’t she? She’s sold them all over town.”

  Jane, the sheriff, and I stared at her.

  “Wha-at?” Lauren said. Her fists moved to her hips.

  “I need to talk to Nicki,” said the sheriff.

  Lauren shrugged. “I haven’t seen her yet today. You should check with Reggie.”

  “Where’s Reggie?”

  “Around here someplace.”

  “Do you know Nicki’s address?”

  “Of course.”

  We waited. The sheriff said, “May I have it?”

  Lauren rolled her eyes and smirked. “Here, just like everybody else.”

  Here?

  “She has a room in the inn?”

  “Duh. Third floor, end of the hall, through the sitting room.”

  We made a beeline to the stairs. Sheriff Zasko pointed at Jane and me. “Stay.” He mobilized Deputy Gray who tossed the roll of yellow tape to the floor and raced after him. Jane and I exchanged glances, and we trudged into the living room.

  “Where did you find him, Willy I mean?” she asked, scrutinizing the space.

  “In the pink chair which is no longer here.”

  “Look at all the dust. Other than that, it doesn’t look much different, does it? How do you think they know which fingerprints they need?”

  I shook my head. The remnants of the sandwich and spilled contents of the glass had been tidied. My shoe scraped across the floor. I lifted my foot and found a single splinter of pink stuck to the bottom. As I leaned against the fireplace to dislodge the sliver, my hand brushed the marble and stopped on the new indentations marring the smooth finish. I dropped to my knees and discovered another cleft in the previously pristine slab. After checking the stone for residual heat, I slid the debris into a pocket. Wondering what could have defaced the frieze, I stuck my head inside the fireplace and peered up the flue.

  I reached up and the tips of my fingers grazed a hard object blocking the narrow space, but my arm was too short. Knowing I’d already used up my free passes from Sheriff Zasko for possibly contaminating evidence, I searched for something to lend an assist and nabbed the poker. I shoved it up the chimney and extended my arm. I jabbed and hooked an object.

  “Little lady, what do you think you’re doing?” Sheriff Zasko thundered from behind me.

  The words ‘little lady’ roiled in my gut. Not wanting to say something I might regret, I pushed hard and poked deeper. Soot billowed onto my face and drifted into my eyes and throat. I coughed, spewing ashes.

  “Katie!” the sheriff blasted from behind me.

  I blinked rapidly to clear the smokey powder blurring my vision while continuing my quest. I’d read The Problem of Thor Bridge, and it looked like someone had tried to mimic the juicy plot of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle’s story. I snagged something and yanked.

  “Wilk!” Sheriff Zasko bellowed.

  A stretchy cable jerked back but I hung on and turned to face him, dragging my trophy by the trigger guard.

  TWENTY-NINE

  Sheriff Zasko recognized the weapon, momentarily massaged his temples, and shouted for Gray.

  The deputy dashed into the living room and came to a halt next to the sheriff, staring at my face and hands. He removed item after item from his rear pocket, like a law enforcement Mary Poppins, extricating an evidence bag, marker, gloves, tape, notepad, the stub of a pencil, and his phone. Gray approached slowly as if I were strapped to an unstable bomb.

  After he snapped a dozen photos from every angle, my leg muscles trembled and began to cramp. I said through gritted teeth as I held fast to the retractable cable, “I hope one is Christmas-card worthy.”

  Gray winced and his ears turned red. The phone disappeared into his pocket. He released the bungee cord, and it snapped back into the hinterlands. With gloved hands, he took possession of the firearm, and bagged and tagged the gun.

  “It wasn’t murder. It was suicide,” I declared. My legs gave out and I slid the rest of the way to the floor.

  Without a word, Sheriff Zasko whirled, and as he stomped from the room, I thought I heard him mumble, “Not possible.”

  “What did I say now?” My eyes misted.

  “The sheriff and Willy Zasko were often on opposite sides of the law, but the sheriff appreciated the fiery streak of righteousness in another Zasko.” He completed reorganizing his pocket and asked, “How did you know?”

  I gestured to the scrapes and ran my finger in the groove on the marble. “These weren’t here before. After Willy shot himself, the gun attached to the elastic whipped back into the chimney and smashed against the stone, leaving this trail.”

  Gray lowered his head. “Willy and the sheriff fought like brothers, and this is going to tear him apart. It’ll be difficult for him to accept Willy committing murder or suicide. He might not say thank you, but this should conclude the investigation.”

  “Do you believe Willy committed suicide?”

  He deliberated for a moment. “Very likely. One …” He held up his forefinger. “There’s a most disagreeable Kimberly, who is not his ex-wife according to the unsigned dissolution papers and has always maintained he owed her. Two …” He held up another finger and continued counting. “He spent four years investing the almighty dollar in his law associate, Irinia Holocek, and she recently accepted a lucrative job with another firm.”

  I felt my eyes bug out.

  “Three, he’d recently reported receiving anonymous threatening phone calls. Four, his research assistant filed a lawsuit for breach of contract. And five, there is the untimely death of his longtime friend and business partner, Edith Farthington. And if he killed her, the future could’ve definitely looked bleak.”

  “What business did Willy have with Edith?”

  “Aside from being her attorney, Willy invested in many of Edith’s properties, and she had quite a number of holdings.”

  “Did he invest in this inn? As an attorney, he must have kept himself protected in case of her death,” I said more to myself. “Were they romantically involved?”

  Gray frowned and tentatively shook his head. He stepped to the door as another question surfaced, and I asked, “Assuming he committed suicide, why would he make it look like murder?”

  “Some insurance policies don’t pay out in case of suicide. Or maybe he didn’t want to lose face. Or maybe he wanted to frame someone else.” Gray shrugged on his way out. “If you think of anything, the sheriff will be in the dining room.”

  Jane and I were left contemplating possible answers in the macabre room. She cleared her throat, grinned, and pointed at my face. “May I?” she asked pointing her camera at me.

  I rolled my eyes, posed, then went in search of a mirror.

  The grimy image staring back at me from the glass in the foyer also belonged in the story of Mary Poppins. The ash only smeared as I vigorously rubbed at my cheeks and forehead, finally capitulating to its superior ability to adhere to my face.

  As Jane studied her phone screen intensely, she knocked into the flower table in the window alcove, and I caught the teetering lamp before it crashed to the ground. “Drew texted back F-u-l-i-g-i-n-o-u-s?” she read. “What do you think it means? Sometimes he drives me nuts.” I peered over her shoulder and pursed my lips, reading Drew’s smart-alecky response as if he’d heard every word.

  It means sooty.

  When we met Drew, he acted so full of himself, wielding his multi-syllabic word of the week, I put him in the disturbed pile, but he’d been using just one of his many undercover personae. He started the school year as a communications teacher with the gallant intention to break up a drug ring infiltrating our school. Now I accepted my best friend’s fiancé, foibles and all.

  “We should check on the kids,” said Jane, raising an eyebrow and pocketing her phone.

  Gray came out of the library, arms filled with another decorative box and a stack of file folders. He lowered his eyes, avoiding any interchange, and tramped past us. A second uniformed officer, carrying a similar load, followed him.

  I sighed. “What was I thinking?”

  “You were thinking about the tragic loss of life, whether done at the hands of another or self-inflicted. Let’s find CJ.” We linked arms, and she guided me across the foyer, past the open door of the dining room. I peeked at Gray and Zasko huddled over the table, jabbing at various stacks of papers, organizing their data, and recording their findings in the notebooks in front of them. We found everyone in the parlor—the dogs, CJ, the girls, and Galen lightly patting Carlee’s back.

  “What’s wrong?” I knelt in front of her and searched her ashen face. “Are you feeling okay?”

  Carlee nodded and it sounded like she wanted to answer but couldn’t. She examined my face, threw back her head, and let out a hearty laugh. “Oh, Ms. Wilk. Only you.”

  If she could’ve seen beneath the soot, she’d have probably seen bright red.

  “We have to delay the memorial for a few hours,” Galen said. “Carlee’s grandparents had a flat tire. They’ll arrive by two, and Father Svoboda agreed to begin the service at three-thirty.”

  I smiled. Carlee smiled back and said, “I was prepared to finally meet them, and now I’m nervous all over again.”

  “It’ll be great. You’ll see.”

  “As long as they meet you first, Carlee,” said Galen.

  Lauren knocked on the door jam. “It’s a little early, but I have some—” She blinked her eyes and gawked. “What happened to you?”

  “She stuck her nose where it doesn’t belong,” said Jane. “Again.”

  Lauren continued as if Jane’s utterings were commonplace. “The sheriff has given me the go ahead to serve food. Snacks are available in the kitchen today. And the supper Reggie added to the inn’s nightly offering, served after happy hour, will be Zelňačka, a sauerkraut soup.”

  The air in the room stilled, and I glanced at the stricken faces around me. “Don’t go to any trouble on our account. I don’t think we’ll be needing anything tonight but thank you, Lauren. We have so many things going on today, and the times are fluctuating, we can take care of our own dinner.”

  Her lips flattened and she squinted. “Are you thinking of skipping breakfast again tomorrow?” she asked testily. “Not eating the food we provide doesn’t change the room rates.”

  “That is understood,” CJ said. “May we let you know this evening after our memorial? Hopefully the rest of our party will have arrived safely.”

  Her face softened. “You’ve prepaid for the week, haven’t you?”

  “Yes, we have.” Lauren’s eyes opened after hearing CJ’s peaceful tone. “How is Davy?” And he knew just what to say.

  Her eyes lit up. “My angel is doing great. Thanks for asking.” She glared at me for a moment as if waiting for me to learn a few things from CJ before she headed to the kitchen.

  Patricia and Kindra scooted together and lined up the pieces on a chessboard. Jane’s busy fingers flew over the keys on her phone. Galen’s reassuring murmurings tugged at the corners of Carlee’s mouth. CJ raised his chin, clasped his knees, and closed his eyes. Even sitting, he struck a stately pose.

  I retreated upstairs, washed off as much grime as I could and changed out of my clothes when I remembered the coded message left for the kids and retrieved it. I read the words, and it seemed as though I’d seen words like them before. Through my phone, I accessed a number of dictionaries and finally found Giráshi. It meant ‘to love.’ The online translator spouted tears, ice, and sand for the first words in the message. I slowly cracked the code for the rest, and interpretation in hand, rose and quietly left the room.

  I knocked once on the doorframe. Sheriff Zasko frowned, but Gray said, “What can we do for you, Katie?”

  “I think I might have figured out how to decipher the messages on the other pages in the box.” I plowed right through their gauntlet of disbelief. The sheriff gritted his teeth. He squinted and dropped his head into his hands as feelings oscillated over his face. I set my decoded copy on the table.

  Gray cleared his throat.

  “Using the Hidatsa language dictionary and Code Talker decryption techniques, I decoded a familiar phrase. ‘Tis better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all.’”

 

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