Aloe and Goodbye, page 16
I did wonder about him mentioning it was the Stramtussles who’d promised him customers. Was that Greta or the whole Stramtussle clan? Even with Henry’s success, did he still blame one or all of them for the terrible business decision he’d made?
I went in search of the sheriff’s substation. It wasn’t too hard to find, just past Flora Lane’s little alley. I opened the door and found Darla sitting in an office not much bigger than a walk-in closet at a government-issue, gunmetal-gray desk filling out paperwork. She looked up as I entered.
“Hi, I’m sorry things didn’t go so well earlier today. I really am trying to be a good citizen. I’m actually here because I think I have some information for you about a potential suspect in the murder of Greta Stramtussle,” I said.
“Go on,” Darla said, dropping her pen and folding her hands together across the top of her paperwork.
“I was working at the Hilltop Hotel, and I discovered that Henry has been faking all of his guests’ spooky encounters.”
“And what do you mean ‘was working’?”
“He fired me for pointing out that he shouldn’t be faking paranormal phenomena just to get customers to book rooms.”
“His prerogative,” Darla said. Her terseness made me nervous.
I grimaced at that and continued.
“Henry’s got tourists coming in to stay at his hotel, but maybe he’s struggling financially? If Mrs. Stramtussle sold him the property with the promise of supernatural occurrences that never actually materialized, it might be reason enough for him to kill her.”
“Possibly. But I could say the same for most of the town—we all have had transactions with Mrs. Stramtussle that were less than satisfactory. Myself included.”
Crap. Darla didn’t have to say it. I knew she was insinuating that I, too, could fall squarely in that category since I was living in a house owned by Mrs. Stramtussle. Though I had no ax to grind with her, clearly someone did, and I didn’t think it was the shrouded, ax-wielding figure I’d seen at her house the night I’d arrived in Paradise.
“Come on, Darla, not everyone in this town can be a suspect.”
“True, but you can’t come in here pointing fingers at an upstanding community member like Henry Villanueva.”
“All I’m saying is if he is dishonest enough to pull off fake hauntings in his hotel, then what other shady actions might he undertake to save his business?”
“I hardly think you can equate some sort of publicity stunt with murder, can you? Especially since what you’re really trying to do is distract me from considering the most obvious suspect.”
“Really? Who would that be?”
“You.”
“I know it doesn’t help to say that it really isn’t me, but it’s not. I didn’t know Greta and had no reason to kill her.”
“And Mrs. Heard?”
“Okay, point well taken. I did know her, and we had an argument, but nothing so terrible it would be worth killing someone for.”
“I don’t know about that. I’ve heard about parents being so uptight about their kid’s education, they do some pretty irrational things.”
“I’m not one of those parents, believe me.” This conversation was not going as expected. “I’d just like to get the murders of these two women cleared up. I have been trying to help you.” I wished I could tell her the clock was ticking and that if I didn’t get out of hot water soon, Victor was going to yank Allie and me out of town faster than I could say ectoplasm.
Darla was in a difficult situation. I’d helped her by finding clues and pointing her toward various suspects, which had certainly helped her, though she still hadn’t apprehended the killer. Admittedly, I hadn’t found the clues as much as stumbled upon them, and I had an ulterior motive in the form of guiding her to look at suspects other than myself.
“I’m thankful for what you’ve done. I wish I could do this by myself, but I can’t. You’ve been able to find things out that I couldn’t, and it’s been a great help.”
That was a pragmatic viewpoint, and I appreciated her honesty. I was certain she hadn’t scratched me off her list of suspects, but if I could help her, I was willing if she was.
“Yes. I get it. I know you don’t have to believe I’m innocent, but I hope you’ll let me help you. So, what’s on your mind?”
“First, how are the two victims connected?”
“No idea,” I said, shaking my head.
“Me neither,” Darla said with a sigh.
“Actually, I do know one way they’re linked. They both had a relationship with Meg Stramtussle. Meg works in the school office for Mrs. Heard and was Greta’s daughter. At least that’s one connection.”
“But I don’t see how that makes Meg a suspect.”
“I talked with Meg and it seems she didn’t have a deep and abiding love, or even respect, for either woman.”
“Okay, that’s good. Really good. Of course I know they’re connected but had no idea how she felt about them. How’d you find this out?”
“She just spilled it while we were chatting at her house when I picked up Allie from a playdate. Mrs. Heard aside, I think one motive Meg had for killing her mother was getting a piece of the estate she inherited with her mother out of the way.”
“Ohhh. That’s harsh, but makes a lot of sense.”
“You know all about Meg and Dr. Dan’s divorce?” I asked Darla.
“Oh yes! Everyone in town experienced that train wreck. It’s all people talked about for weeks—make that months.”
“She told me she was struggling financially,” I said.
“I didn’t know that. Dr. Dan is clearly not paying his child support. I’ll see what I can do with that,” Darla said, jotting down a few notes on her pad.
“What’s next?”
“How did Greta’s ring end up in your upholstered chair? Would Bette have hid it there?”
“I don’t think she would’ve planted that ring between the chair cushions while her own ring was missing and while I stood in the room with her—I would have seen her put it there.”
“It is a pretty small living room, and it would’ve been hard to miss her shoving something into the cracks of the cushions,” she said.
“Though, I did leave her alone while I went to the kitchen to get her a glass of tea, so she could have stowed the ring away then.”
“Where’d that armchair come from?” Darla asked
I didn’t like where this was headed. It was all too close for comfort to talk about the specifics of my living situation.
“A friend brought it over a couple of days after we arrived.”
“Did that friend I met at your house bring it to you? Maybe that’s why he looked familiar. I think he bought that chair at our thrift store. Oh, he bought a lamp too.”
I actually didn’t know who had purchased or delivered my armchair. As far as I was concerned, it had been brought to me by the furniture fairies. I recalled Victor saying he’d picked out some of the furniture himself, so it wasn’t completely impossible to believe he’d purchased that chair in Paradise. I decided to play along.
“Yes, he bought it for me. Victor’s a good guy,” I said, as confidently as possible. I wasn’t a good liar, but so far, so good.
“What about him? Maybe he put the ring in the chair.”
“Oh, Victor. No, I never left him alone, and he’s an upstanding citizen, I promise. Besides, he doesn’t have any connection to Mrs. Stramtussle or Paradise for that matter.” What I really wanted to do at that moment was tell Darla that he was a US marshal and that there was no way he’d ever plant evidence in the house of one of his witnesses.
“So, if Bette didn’t plant the ring in the chair, and neither did Victor, who did?” Darla glanced my way.
“You’re looking right at me, and I can assure you it wasn’t me. After all, if I’d hidden it, why would I have pulled it out for Bette to see?”
“No idea why you’d do that.”
“Gah! It’s not me. And it’s not Allie. We don’t think it’s Bette. Or Victor.”
“Is that it?” Darla asked.
“You were at my house, but we’ll assume you aren’t in the business of hiding evidence in citizen’s homes.”
“Luke was at my house, but he never went inside and was never out of my sight.”
“He was? You’ll have to tell me more about that sometime,” Darla said with a knowing nod.
“Oh, but I forgot to tell you. It couldn’t have been Luke who killed Mrs. Stramtussle because he’d driven all the way to Phoenix for a swap meet, and didn’t get back until late on Sunday night.”
“And he can prove that?” Darla asked.
“I don’t see why not. Someone at the swap meet could vouch for him.”
“Could someone have broken into your house and put the ring in the chair?” Darla asked.
“That would be a new kind of crime—breaking into a house to leave valuables, rather than stealing them!” I broke out in laughter. I couldn’t help myself, it was all just exhausting and ridiculous at this point,
“Do we know about Meg’s alibis?” Darla asked, undeterred by my fit of hysteria. “The day Mrs. Heard was killed, I’d gone by the school office to talk with her. She wasn’t there—”
“Because she was likely already dead down at the hayride site,” I said, finally catching my breath and calming down.
“Right. But Meg wasn’t there either,” Darla said.
“She told me she’d taken the kids to her ex-husband’s house. So, she’s probably in the clear.”
“Just in case, I think I should look into Meg’s financial situation and the Stramtussle estate to see if that could’ve been a motive for her to kill her mother.”
As for me, I promised to continue finding clues as I went about my business, which had become looking for a new job. Again.
TWENTY-ONE
On Monday night, I had an appointment to appear in front of the school board to discuss Allie’s grade assignment. I doubted I could convince the board to agree that Allie had been placed incorrectly, even though she had admitted to purposefully failing the test. If matters weren’t bad enough, the school board president, Sam Ferrell, was likely still smarting from the injury I’d inflicted on his private parts.
Allie and I had intended to eat dinner at home before walking up to the school, but our plans changed with an aggressive knock on our front door.
“Kelly Jackson, KWW7 TV,” the chipper young bleached blond woman said as I answered the door. She held a mic and wore a Pepto-Bismol-pink skirt and blazer with an ivory silk blouse. “I’d like to do a little interview. May I come in?” She barged through the door without waiting for a response, her groggy cameraman trailing behind her. This wasn’t good news.
“I, I, don’t think—” I stammered.
“I’ve come to get your comments on the grisly murder that took place right next door. Do you mind?” Kelly snapped her fingers a couple of times to wake up her videographer, who hoisted his camera onto his shoulder.
“Yes, I do mind! You’ve barged into my living room! I don’t want to talk with you. I don’t want to be on the evening news! Out! Right now!” I pointed toward the door. The cameraman just stood there, his eyes at half-mast. I snapped my fingers twice in front of his eyes. “Hello? Anybody home? Time to move out!” Apparently, he didn’t take directions from anyone but Evening Newscaster Barbie.
“Now, Miss—what did you say your name was?” the woman asked.
“I didn’t say, and I’m not going to say. Get out of my house. Now!”
Kelly huffed and turned on her spiked heel, the zombielike cameraman following behind her. I slammed the door as soon as the man cleared the threshold, while Allie looked at me like I’d lost my mind. Maybe, just maybe, I had.
“Why don’t you want to talk with her?” Allie asked.
“I don’t want to be on television. What if one of the bad guys saw me on the news? He’d know where we are. We wouldn’t be safe. For me, it’s all about being safe and staying here. That’s all that matters.”
“You matter most to me, Mom.”
“And you to me, baby.”
“Mom.”
“Sorry, I promise I’ll stop calling you that. But you will always be my baby, so it’s a pretty hard habit to break.”
“It’s okay,” Allie said, giving me a hug. I kissed the top of her head and hugged her back.
“Are you hungry?”
“Can we go out to eat?” Allie asked.
“As long as it’s not at Bette’s—I don’t think she’s too happy with me right now.”
I got on the computer and looked up restaurants in town. There weren’t many choices. The Hilltop Hotel had a restaurant, but I didn’t want to schlep all the way up there. Plus I wasn’t sure I’d be welcomed with open arms after being fired. There was a pizza joint up the hill from the school, a little past where we had found Boomer.
I heard a sound on the front steps and peeked out the window.
Kelly and her cameraman still stood in front of the house filming. Lord only knew what she would be saying about how I refused to be interviewed, casting a shadow of guilt across Paradise’s newest resident. As far as I knew, Paradise didn’t have its own news station. The van had a plastic wrap that read KWW7, and I wondered if that might be Wendlewood’s local television station. If they were up here, it must’ve meant it was a slow news day. Fortunately, the newscaster hadn’t gotten my name or any footage of me. I didn’t want to come barging out of the front door, and past her, for fear she’d try for one of those guerrilla interviewing techniques, where she trotted along next to me as we tried to make our escape.
“Come on, let’s go,” I said to Allie, taking her hand and leading her toward the kitchen. “We’re going out the sneaky way.” We went out the kitchen’s back door and down the rickety staircase that put us next to the shed. Then we sneaked around the side of the house and through the yard. We found our way to the street on the far side of the van, out of sight of the news crew.
Allie seemed to like our little adventure, as she walked up ahead of me, leading the way. It made my heart feel good to see my dear, sweet daughter blossoming before my very eyes.
We found the restaurant, Paolo’s Pizza. I was relieved it wasn’t Poltergeist Pizza or something similarly ghostly; I was sick and tired of fake spookiness. We ordered a large pepperoni pizza with hopes that we’d have leftovers to take home. Allie had root beer and I had a real beer. It felt good to sit and feel normal for once. The pizza arrived. While it wasn’t on par with my favorite Italian restaurant in Brooklyn Heights, it was hot and delicious. This place was fast becoming our favorite restaurant in town.
We finished the entire pizza, with no leftovers to take home, and arrived to school at our appointed time, ready to present our case.
I stood ten feet back from the school board members in the middle of the empty basketball court in the school’s gym. A metal folding chair had been placed beside me, but I thought standing would be more impactful. Allie sat on the sidelines, in the bottom row of the bleachers. I had instructed her to stay quiet.
Sitting front and center, a smug Sam Ferrell was flanked on one side by Sally Graber, the owner of the clothing store Allie and I had visited on our first day in town. She’d been snippy with me, if not downright unfriendly, that day and also when she’d come to Sam’s for supplies. On the other side of Sam was Meg Stramtussle. This seemed a little odd since she was also an employee at the school. I had no idea if there were any rules about conflicts of interest for school district employees to act on the school board. Meg, while she had been polite—perhaps even friendly—to me, did have a reason to look at me with suspicion. First, I was a suspect in the murder of her mother, and second, I’d been accused of the same for her boss.
Sam banged the gavel on the long lunchroom table to bring the meeting to order. This was a pompous move since there was no one else in the room other than the four of us, plus Allie in the bleachers.
“The first and only item on the agenda is Ruby Shaw. She’s protesting her daughter’s grade assignment after she took our standardized placement test.”
It was dead silent. I wasn’t sure if it was time for me to speak. No one else said anything. I’d been in situations at least this scary before while discussing my work before panels of art-competition judges, in hopes of winning placement in a prestigious exhibition. Addressing the three people behind the lunch table should have been no different, but there I was, my head buzzing as I drummed up the courage to speak.
Meg Stramtussle, pen poised to take notes, looked up at me. She gave me a little circular gesture with her pen to indicate she was ready, and I should begin.
“Hello and thank you for allowing me to come and speak with you this evening. As I’m sure you’re aware, we are new in town, and my daughter, Allie, has had difficulty adjusting. She made a mistake, a big mistake, and purposefully answered questions wrong on the placement test.” This elicited a small gasp from Sally Graber. “She’s not proud of what she did and has been placed in a lower grade than where she needs to be because of her poor score on the test.”
“What do you mean ‘needs to be’?” Sally Graber asked, her arms folded, leaning forward in what was either an aggressive posture or a method of adjusting her backside on the uncomfortable metal chair.
“You see, she was in seventh grade before coming to Paradise, and we were hoping that is where she could be—”
“As you know, our school has been awarded high marks for excellence for public schools in Arizona,” Sally Graber butted in. “Maybe the school where your daughter was before wasn’t so hot.”
“She’s right,” Meg chimed in. “Maybe we just have higher standards.”
Meg and Sally were really getting on my nerves. I cursed under my breath—referring to them both using an unflattering term for female dogs. The word echoed off the gymnasium walls amid a simultaneous gasp.
