It's a Wonderful Knife Page 8

  “Much better,” he said.

  He was a man of few words, whereas Marie talked about as much as ACB did. We could still hear the two of them in the waiting room.

  Finally he finished up. Dr. Covey handed me my crutches, and I stood, then hobbled out to the waiting room.

  ACB handed me my purse, and when I opened it to get my checkbook, I saw all of Liz Fellows’s mail.

  Guilt shrouded me like fog off Lake Ontario, and I tried to shrug it off. If I was going to find out who murdered Liz and why, I’d better stop feeling guilty about bending the rules to do it.

  Yeah, right.

  Saying good-bye to Marie and Dr. Covey, ACB and I walked down the stairs and through the parking lot. I was glad to be going back home after the morning from hell. I had a million things to do, including preparing for Tuesday’s auditions and the weekend’s catering events.

  The sound of a siren shattered the silence of the countryside under snow. Then revolving red lights caught my eye.

  A green and white Sandy Harbor Sheriff’s Department car came into sight, flew into Dr. Covey’s driveway, and stopped between us and ACB’s white van.

  Deputy Sheriff Ty Brisco exited the vehicle, plopped his hat on his head, and hurried toward us.

  “Ladies, is there anything you’d like to tell me about before I take you both to jail?”

  Chapter 6

  Ty didn’t have a slight smile tweaking the edges of his mouth. Nor did he have a merry twinkle in his eyes. His one dimple that appeared on his right cheek when he was joking stayed hidden.

  This could be serious.

  “Get into the backseat of my car, please.”

  ACB giggled nervously. “Oh, Ty. You can’t be serious.”

  “I told you both, over and over again, to stay out of this case. To stay out of all cases, actually. Because you’ll ruin evidence. You’ll ruin clues.”

  “Ty, we’re very careful, and—” I started to explain, but didn’t have a chance.

  “Like at Liz Fellows’s house just now?” he shouted. “Antoinette Chloe’s flip-flop prints are all over the place. Trixie, I saw one boot print from you and your two crutch tip prints. Am I wrong?”

  “No. We were there, but—” I began.

  “No buts. This isn’t a game!”

  “Ty, listen to me, and then you can take me in. This was my idea, not Antoinette Chloe’s.”

  ACB grunted, then waved her hand. “It was my idea, too. In fact, think I thought of it first. We’ll share the blame.”

  “And I’m thinking that you both share one brain,” Ty said. “So get in the car. You can share the backseat.”

  “Deputy Brisco,” I said formally. “I have a million things to do. I have to prepare to audition kids for the Christmas pageant and place orders for more food.”

  “Then you’d better get into the car, so I can get you both charged, and then arraigned if I can find Judge Frazier. Maybe you’ll be able to make bail before tonight.”

  “But, Ty—” ACB and I both protested together. Maybe we did share one brain.

  “Get in! Don’t make me handcuff you.”

  We got into his car before Wyatt Earp’s head exploded.

  I’d never seen Ty so mad. He was usually easygoing in a laid-back cowboy way. People usually mistook his relaxed temperament as being lenient and tried to take advantage of him, but then he’d spring to action and the cop side of him would take over.

  Like now.

  Believe it or not, ACB and I didn’t say a word for the whole ten-minute drive to the sheriff’s department. Instead, ACB fussed with her candy cane fascinator, put on another layer of makeup, and changed her earrings twice.

  I wondered if she might have a bottle of water in her cleavage purse. My throat was dry, and my heart was beating crazy fast.

  I was going to jail, and Ty Brisco was taking me there.

  Ty was the man who shared my beloved Blondie. He was the man who ate every meal at my diner, and most of the time I joined him. I’d revealed some of my deepest secrets to him. Like how I couldn’t seem to have kids when I was married to Deputy Doug and how he found a twentysomething while we were married who gave him twin girls. And how sometimes I thought I’d let down my parents because I could never measure up to my sister and brother.

  “We’re here,” Ty said, breaking the silence. “Your new residence for a while.”

  Nothing like rubbing it in. He was enjoying this way too much.

  He offered ACB his hand, and she took it. I didn’t. I handed my crutches to him instead.

  Setting my crutches against his car, he offered me his hand again. “I can do it myself.”

  The lone dimple appeared.

  “This isn’t funny, Ty. Like I said, I have a million things to do.”

  “You should have thought of that before you broke into Liz’s house.”

  “We didn’t break in. We had her keys,” I said, echoing what ACB had pointed out to me earlier.

  “Save it for Judge Frazier. If he isn’t ice fishing, he’ll be at his fly-tying shop. I’ll try to locate him. If not, there’s always tomorrow. Oh, before I forget to tell you, there’s going to be a memorial service for Liz Fellows tonight.”

  “Ty, I have a perfect idea. The food that’s there . . . Everything can be for a reception after Liz’s service!”

  “That is a fabulous idea. I’ll let Pastor Fritz know about your generous offer. I’m on my way to see him now.”

  “I have a party to cater tomorrow night. It’s going to be very elegant, and I have to make fancy appetizers and cook a prime rib and the side dishes. It’ll take Antoinette Chloe and me all day to prepare everything and then some. So we have to leave—right now.”

  Ty put his hand on my back to herd me to the sheriff’s department. At another time, I might have enjoyed the volts of heat spreading through me.

  But I couldn’t enjoy it. Not at all.

  “I’ll let you call Bob and Juanita,” he finally said. “You can set something up with them.”

  ACB burst into tears. “’Tis the season of peace on earth and good will to all men . . . and women.”

  Ty snorted. “’Tis the season to leave investigating to the professionals and not disturb the victim’s house.”

  “Wait a minute!” I said. “Do you think that we were the ones who trashed Liz’s house? Oh, no! It was like that when we walked in. Someone else made all that mess.”

  Ty shook his head. “I never thought you two trashed her house. You wouldn’t do that, but you walked over any other footprints that might have given us something to go by. You picked things up, and probably moved them, and—I can’t believe this, but—I think you took her mail, as well.”

  He unlocked the door with a key. Must be that the two deputies were on patrol. The 911 operator, Fanny Fowler, was way in the back of the long office in a glassed-in room with low lighting.

  Ty flicked the lights on and waved to Fanny. She waved back.

  ACB and I waved to her and she blew us a kiss. Merry Christmas, she mouthed, standing.

  If I remembered correctly, Fanny, who was about twenty years old and five feet tall, with a blond ponytail and big blue eyes, wanted to be Mrs. Cratchit in the pageant. If I was going to be Tiny Tim, she’d be my mother. I’m not going to tell you my age, but let’s just say she could be my daughter.

  What casting! I’d have to think of something else for Fanny. She’d be perfect as Cindy Lou Who.

  One thing I knew for sure—Ty Brisco would be perfect for Ebenezer Scrooge! Or maybe the Grinch.

  “So there’s a memorial service at the church tonight?” I asked.

  “Yes.”

  Ty slid over two uncomfortable-looking metal chairs and motioned for us to sit down. “I am going to type up your official charges. Then you can tell your story in an affid
avit, and I’ll type it all up on the computer.”

  I took a deep breath. “Ty, no offense, but you can’t type to save your life. You use one thumb and one finger. We’ll be here until next Tuesday. Let me type it for you,” I said. “In the meantime, please try to find Judge Frazier, and ask him if he’ll arraign us here instead of at his fly-tying shop, so we can get out of here really fast!”

  Ty closed his eyes and shook his head. Not a good sign.

  “You are not running this show, Beatrix Matkowski. I am. And for your information, I can type at least six words a minute, without mistakes. None. No mistakes.”

  He called me Beatrix! No one calls me Beatrix, but I decided to let it go, considering the circumstances.

  “Who cares about mistakes?” I asked. “They can be fixed easily on a computer! Ty, let’s get this show on the road so we can get out of here.”

  “And you will have learned nothing from this experience. Correct?” He chewed on a bright yellow pencil, and looked like he was going to bite it in half.

  “Oh!” Antoinette Chloe repositioned her fascinator, which was making an escape attempt via her shoulder. “This is like Scared Straight. You know, that TV show where kids are scared by prison inmates, so they don’t commit any more crimes.”

  Ty’s mouth gaped open. “No, Antoinette Chloe, that’s not what I’m trying to do.” He stood. “Come with me. I’m going to put you into a cell, and I’ll take care of the paperwork at my own pace: six perfect, meaningful, profound words a minute. When I need you, I’ll let you out, one at a time. Let’s go to jail, ladies.”

  “Ty, I can’t go to jail. Not now. I’ll go in April before the cottages open. I promise,” I said.

  Ty raked his fingers through his black, shiny hair, which usually had a groove in it due to his cowboy hat. That’s what he always did whenever he was frustrated, usually by me.

  Not that I’d noticed.

  I took a couple of deep breaths, figured that I’d just write everything down that needed to be done and beg him to allow me to take my cell phone into the cell.

  After all, this was Sandy Harbor, not Attica.

  “Okay, Ty. Let’s go,” I whispered, trying to find my voice. “I just can’t stand the thought of sitting idle in a jail cell when I have so much to do.”

  ACB’s candy canes on her fascinator were pointing down and her Midnight Tryst mascara was running in several small rivulets down her cheeks. Each had a touch of gold eye shadow shimmering in them. Just like how I imagined the rivers of Sutter’s Mill would have looked.

  I took her hand and held on to it. She didn’t want to go to jail either, particularly not at Christmas. “We’ll get through this, Antoinette Chloe. It’s okay.”

  I turned to Ty. “Okay, Deputy Brisco, lock us up. Just let me keep my cell phone, paper and pen, and calendar. I have a lot of calls to make and food to order.”

  “Okay, listen to me, ladies,” he said. “I won’t lock the door to the cell. You can do your business in there. I’ll call Judge Frazier and ask him to drive over here. But what I want you to get through your heads is that there is a killer on the loose who stabbed Liz Fellows. I don’t know the motivation or the reason or anything else at all at this time. I do know that now you”—he pointed at me—“now, you, Trixie, are the pageant director, just like Liz was. I don’t want to scare you. I just want you to be aware. But I don’t know if her murder had anything to do with the pageant yet because instead of investigating, I find myself one step away from having to hog-tie the two of you.”

  “We’re sorry, Ty. We really are,” ACB said, wiping her face on the sleeve of her muumuu. “We won’t go back to Liz’s house.”

  She looked at me to make sure that was okay. I gave a slight nod.

  “And, Ty, we’ll give you all of Liz’s mail. There’s a little lottery scraper in one of the envelopes. We know that because we got the envelope X-rayed at the dentist’s office.”

  “You did what?” he asked.

  “Uh . . . um . . . we didn’t want to open her mail because that’s a federal offense,” I explained.

  “For heaven’s sake, so is taking someone else’s mail!”

  Ty held out his hand, and I reached for my purse, pulled out Liz’s mail, and placed it in his hand. “It’s not exciting. Just some bills and that tiny ice scraper from Gus’s Gutters and Snow Removal.”

  “It’s Gus’s thirtieth year in serving Sandy Harbor,” ACB said. “We figure that he put the little scrapers in his bills for his customers. It has his address and phone number on the little thing.”

  Ty paused in the middle of looking at Liz’s mail and looked up. “Good to know,” he deadpanned.

  “It’s not a clue or anything,” ACB said. “So don’t worry about that. Unless you want to worry about it, but I don’t think you need to.”

  Ty looked at me for help. But since he was the one who’d arrested us, he could just handle ACB on his own.

  “That’s the one.” ACB pointed to the yellow envelope. “That one. Right there. It’s Liz’s bill from Gus’s Gutters and Snow Removal.”

  Ty looked at me. “What were you two hoping that this little ice scraper was?”

  Oh crap! Should I answer that? We could be all wrong, and Ty might ask for a two-physician commitment for mental health services for us.

  “Well, Trixie?” he pushed, staring at me with those darn blue eyes.

  “We thought it might be a flash drive. It was kind of the right size and felt like it might be just that.”

  “A flash drive for Liz’s laptop? The same laptop that you took from the church? That laptop?”

  “The very same,” I said. “If you want the laptop, I’ll certainly give it to you. I just gathered up all of Liz’s things that were left in the church and thought I’d keep them until you told me otherwise.”

  “Otherwise,” he said.

  “Huh?”

  “Otherwise. I’m telling you to give me all of Liz’s property.”

  “Why didn’t you just say so?”

  Steam was coming out of his ears. He was fun to tease, but I knew I was pushing him.

  “Did you find anything on the laptop?” he asked.

  “Yes. I was looking for pageant help—lists, names, what she had in mind for the pageant—and I found pretty much what I needed.”

  “Nothing else?”

  “Nothing exciting. Maybe Ray Meyerson could find something important, or some wizard at the State Police, but I couldn’t.”

  “What about you, Antoinette Chloe?” Ty asked.

  “I’m about on Trixie’s level. I’d still be keeping my restaurant accounts on paper, but Fingers has all kinds of programs for keeping track of things, so I let him. He can tell right down to the stick of butter how much to order and the cost.”

  At least ACB knew that flash drives existed—maybe because Fingers usually sported two on a lanyard around his neck.

  “Whoever beat you to Liz’s house, what do you think they were looking for?” Ty asked.

  “Are you asking for our help?” I couldn’t believe it.

  A vein pumped in his temple. “I’m just asking a question.”

  I nodded. “We don’t really know. We’re just guessing that the killer might be looking for Liz’s flash drive, too, if she was using one. It’s just a big, fat guess—a shot in the dark.”

  “I’ll be picking up Liz’s laptop tonight. Where is it?”

  “On my kitchen table.”

  “I’ll let myself in,” he said. “And I’ll take Blondie home with me.”

  ACB adjusted her bra straps. “You’re still going to charge us?”

  “Yeah, but you can take your cell phones and whatever else you need. Call for takeout. I’m buying.”

  “Darn right you are, Ty Brisco,” I said. “Who do you want to interview first?”

/>   “Antoinette Chloe can go first. And don’t forget, I have to take your statements from yesterday, too.”

  I sighed. “Remember to call Judge Frazier and get him down here. If you don’t I will ban you from being served at the Silver Bullet for the rest of your lifetime or mine, whichever comes first.”

  He slapped his hands on his heart. “You wouldn’t dare!”

  “I dare.”

  He reached into his desk and threw me a set of keys. “Let yourself into the jail. Leave the door open, so I can make sure you’re okay.”

  The Sandy Harbor jail cells were through a double door. A left turn led to the men’s cell—a right led to the women’s. I turned right and had to smile when I came to ACB’s creation. It looked like a fabric store had exploded.

  I opened the cell door and hesitated for a moment before I walked in. Slumping into a Queen Anne chair decorated with colorful climbing roses, I leaned my crutches against a writing desk that looked like an antique. Too bad it was painted in bright pink.

  Digging out my cell phone from my purse, I decided to call the Silver Bullet for takeout.

  Only in small-town Sandy Harbor would I be given the keys to let myself into my own cell—a cell decorated by Antoinette Chloe, fashion and décor maven—and be able to keep my purse and phone and have the deputy pay for lunch.

  Sitting quietly for a while, I could hear the muted conversation of ACB and Ty. I wondered what was happening, but I’d find out soon when it was my turn.

  So Ty was going to go through with charging us with a crime. Trespassing, I presumed. Probably not burglary because we didn’t break in or take anything—well, other than mail. I didn’t know if Ty could charge us with federal offenses, or if that had to be someone else, but I didn’t want to find out.

  Maybe he’d forget about the mail thing.

  All this thinking was making me hungry.

  I called the Silver Bullet.

  “The Silver Bullet Diner, serving since 1952. How can I assist you?”

  “Bob?”

  “You’re speaking with him.”

  “Bob, it’s Trixie. I have some strange news. Antoinette Chloe and I have been arrested by Ty and are at the sheriff’s department. I don’t know when we’re going to get out of here, and I’m so worried that I’m not going to get everything done, but I’m going to try. I can do the organizing, but not the cooking. I’m so sorry, Bob.”