Horse With No Name (12 page)

The world was quiet while Betty thought about
this. Finally she spoke up again. "And how will I ever trust him
again?"

The two women didn't come up with a solution,
standing there in the yard. After sharing her tale of woe for a
while longer, Betty eventually ran out of steam.

"Come upstairs. Let's have some tea and talk
about something else."

The Mitchells lived above their store in a
suite of rooms that included a kitchen, living area and two large
bedrooms, one at the front of the building and one at the back.
They had built the building when they'd moved to Horse and had
lived at the Finnegan's hotel the previous spring and summer while
it was being built. The furniture was sparse but well cared for,
and the rooms had a cozy, welcoming feel. It was strange to Julia
to be one story off the ground but she enjoyed the view from the
sitting room windows, which looked out across Lake Okanagan. The
lakefront was a few blocks away, but the water still glinted and
sparkled in the afternoon sunlight.

The routine of making and serving tea seemed
to calm Betty. Tears had stopped leaking from her eyes and she
looked slightly less shattered than she had when Julia first found
her in the garden. The carrots and beets were left in their basket
on the back porch, and the women climbed the set of stairs that
went up on the outside of the building.

When they were settled with tea and biscuits,
Betty said, "You didn't come over here just to counsel me, I'm
sure, Julia. Were you looking for something?"

"Now that you ask, I wanted to talk to you
about James Hunter's beating."

"Oh, good!" Betty took a bite of her goodie,
"Please take my mind off ..." she paused, "well, everything."

"I went to the hotel last night in search of
information."

"Did you? What sort of information?"

"Let me back up. Yesterday afternoon, Earnest
Hewitt came by the school to pick up his son and his neighbor's
son. He does that sometimes. Out of nowhere, he mentioned a poker
game that takes place each week."

Betty's eyes widened.

"Did you know about this?"

The storekeeper shook her head.

"Me, neither. And Mr. Hewitt didn't say where
it was. I was so shocked and he drove off before I could ask him
any more questions. So I asked the Engs..."

"Who know everything," Betty chimed in.

Julia nodded. "And they eventually told me it
was at the hotel. Anyway, with a little persuasion Caroline
Finnegan told me which room it was in and I went and played a few
hands."

"You did not!"

"I did."

"Julia Thom, you scandalous hussie."

"Why, thank you." Julia smiled, pleased with
the effect her story was having. Some of the light returned to
Betty's eyes. "I wanted to find out if James Hunter owed anyone
money or had annoyed anyone there. He's completely clammed up and
won't talk to Merrick or anyone about what happened to him. But I'm
determined to find the culprit who did this to him."

"So what did they say?"

"Hewitt had said that Hunter was a poor
player, and they liked having him at the game for that reason. He
always had a lot of cash with him and was good at sharing it with
the other players, if you get my meaning."

Betty took a sip of tea and nodded.

"It took some persuasion but I was able to
get Merrick and Walt and Finn to confirm this. Hunter was a
terrible player, they said. But that wouldn't cause anyone to beat
him up. Quite the opposite, in fact. They liked having him there.
He was quiet and caused no trouble."

"Oh," Betty sat back slightly in her chair.
"So you're not any closer to finding out who attacked him?

"I didn't say that," Julia said.

"Do tell."

"Well," Julia was relishing sharing the
story. She'd been sitting on it all day. "Apparently, despite Mr.
Hunter's tendency toward being quiet and minding his own business,
he and Roy Meddy got into an argument at last week's game."

"Roy Meddy is a right bastard."

Julia barked out a sharp burst of laughter at
Betty's choice phrase. This was more swearing than Betty had done
the entire time Julia had known her. She liked this new, angry
Betty Mitchell.

"It's true," Betty laughed along with Julia.
"For a man whose business is making sweets, he's as sour as they
come. That poor wife of his."

"Exactly! Now, here's my question for you. I
thought that I overheard someone say that Roy was violent and had
beaten his wife on more than one occasion."

Betty set down her teacup and thought about
this. "I've heard that rumor too, but I'm not sure how true it is.
I've never seen evidence of anything like that. Although some
people are better at hiding that sort of thing. But he is a
bastard, like I said, and always has to have his own way. Everyone
knows that. He can't stand being wrong or even being unsure about
something. Plus he's always got his nose in everyone's business. In
fact, I stopped dealing with him. We used to stock a few loaves of
bread here in the shop. Meddy would bring them over each morning
when we were opening up and sell them to us at cost. But we never
knew how many he'd bring and if we asked him to commit he'd get all
fractious with us. I stopped dealing with him altogether because he
was so rude to me. I left him for Christopher to manage. But even
he got fed up with Meddy's behavior eventually. So we stopped
carrying the bread." Betty thought for a few minutes, staring out
the window. "He does make an amazing apple tart, though. I'll give
him that."

"Well," Julia took a last sip of tea and
began pulling her gloves on, "he's the closest thing I've got to a
suspect, so I'm going over there now to see what I can find out.
Maybe he'll confess and that will be that."

"Is Constable Merrick going with you?"

Julia shook her head. "I am doing this
without his approval, although probably not without his knowledge.
He's busy trying to find the men who tried to attack me last
Saturday night."

Betty shivered. "Deputize me then, and I'll
come with you."

"Deputize you?" Julia looked at Betty
quizzically. "I'm not a police officer. I'm not a deputy myself.
Merrick would chew off his own left foot before he'd involve me
officially in a case."

"Go on. Wave your hands in the air or cast a
magic spell, or whatever. Make me a deputy."

Never in her life had Julia had a woman
friend who understood her the way Betty did. Her heart swelled. She
stood up. "Betty Mitchell, I do hereby declare that you are
henceforth and furthermore my deputy. Amen. Or something."

Betty grinned and stood up as well. "I live
to serve."

Sixteen

Is there anything more enticing than the smell of
warm bread? Julia's mouth began to water before she and Betty even
entered Meddy's shop. The smell reminded Julia of home, and of
Ella, the Thom's cook, who always let Julia help with the kneading
and would use a tiny bit of dough to make her a very small bun. It
was their secret and as far as Julia knew her mother never found
out. When the baking was done, Ella and Julia would sit at the
small table in the kitchen, a pot of tea between them. Julia would
eat her bun with one ear listening for footsteps in the hallway in
case her mother should make a surprise appearance. She rarely did.
The kitchen was a realm she preferred to leave to others' care.

Meddy's shop was tucked into a strange spot
on Main Street. The lot where it stood had, for whatever reason,
been assigned a smaller width than all the others on the street.
Consequently the bakery always looked squished to Julia, like it
was a theater-goer in tight seats, holding in its shoulders. Meddy,
on the other hand, was not burdened with a lack of spread. He was
thick everywhere; thick neck, thick mid-section, thick fingers. And
a thick head, Julia's father would have said, but she had thus far
tried to give the man the benefit of the doubt.

Today, however, he would have to prove
himself to her. She was convinced he was the likeliest suspect for
Hunter's beating. He had the means (his ham shaped hands and quick
temper) and the motive (his argument with Hunter at the previous
week's poker game). Whether he had the opportunity would remain to
be seen. Could he account for his whereabouts on Monday? Julia
found Hunter just after 3:30pm, but who knew how long he'd been
lying on the floor of his shop. The Meddys tended to close up shop
as soon as they'd sold out of everything, which was usually by 2pm.
They lived in a house several blocks away and were rarely seen in
the afternoons and evenings. They woke early, long before daylight,
year round, to start baking, and went to bed early as well, to
facilitate this.

Julia and Betty's discussion hadn't begun
until mid-afternoon and now it was nearly four o'clock. Julia was
surprised to find the Meddys still in their shop. The baskets that
lined the shelves in the shop were nearly empty, though there were
a few loaves left. Julia assumed this was what was causing the late
opening.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Meddy," she said
brightly, feigning delight at seeing the baker. "Thank goodness
you've got some bread left!" Julia eyed the baskets beside her.
None of the bread was her favorite and, in fact, she'd just made a
loaf for herself on Sunday.

"You left it a bit late, didn't ya?" Meddy
asked, hardly looking up from where he was sweeping flour dust and
grains into a pile.

Charmer, Julia thought. "I'll take this last
loaf of rye," she said, "and Mrs. Mitchell will have these last two
loaves of sourdough." Julia jabbed her friend gently in the
ribs.

Betty startled but she recovered quickly.
"Yes please, Mr. Meddy. And Julia will be paying for everything
today."

Touché, Julia thought.

With great ill nature, Meddy put the loaves
into the basket Betty had the foresight to bring with her. Then he
acted like he was doing Julia a favor taking her payment.

When the women stayed where they were, rather
than turning and leaving the shop, Meddy glared at them both and
asked, "That it?"

"Now that you mention it, we have a question
for you," Julia said.

"We?" Betty muttered under her breath.

"What is it?" Meddy barked.

"You're an acquaintance of Mr. Hunter, the
watchmaker, aren't you?" Julia led with an easy question but Meddy
wasn't ready to take the bait.

"Not really, no. Can't say I am."

Julia played one of her best cards; a little
early she reflected later, but then, she was new at the suspect
interview game. "You see him each week at the poker game at
Finnegan's though, correct?"

Meddy hardly reacted at all to this
revelation. If Julia hadn't been watching closely she would have
missed the slight movement backwards of his head. "Who says?" he
countered.

"Well, let's see," Julia pretended for a
moment that her bow was empty and then loosed a surprise arrow.
"Constable Merrick, Mayor Billy, Walt Sheehan and Edgar Finnegan
for a start."

This time Meddy had prepared himself. He
didn't flinch. "Is that right? And what have they got to say about
this theoretical poker game?"

Two points to you for the use of
'theoretical', Julia thought. Perhaps she had underestimated the
size of the brain encased behind Meddy's porcine eyes and ill
humor. "One thing they said last night when I was playing with
them," she paused for effect, "was that last week you had quite a
disagreement with Mr. Hunter. You accused him of cheating."

Julia raised her voice a little in triumph
which caused Meddy to glance back toward the back door of the
shop.

"Keep your voice down, woman," Meddy said.
Clearly Mrs. Meddy wasn't aware of her husband's participation in
the game.

Julia made a mental note and filed it for
later.

Meddy continued, at a hissed whisper. "You're
goddamned right I accused that little weasel of cheating. He rarely
wins and then suddenly he had a night when he couldn't lose. How is
that possible? I told him I would break all his limbs if I ever
figured out how he was doing it."

"Doing what?"

"Cheating, of course!" Meddy looked at Julia
as though she was an imbecile.

"And did you?"

Now Meddy looked puzzled. "Did I what?"

"Did you try to break all his limbs?"

"I wish I had," Meddy hissed. "That little
turd deserves whatever he got. Keeps hisself to hisself and then
flounces into the game and fleeces us all. Smarmy little bastard.
I'll figure out how he did it one day. And then he will receive a
beating. You mark my words." He paused slightly, perhaps suddenly
aware of what he'd just said. "But no," he eventually continued, "I
didn't touch him this time. And I got no idea who did."

"Are you sure, Mr. Meddy? Edgar Finnegan said
he and Walt Sheehan had to remove you from last week's game because
you were so enraged at Mr. Hunter. It would have been so easy to
find him at his shop, all alone, and give him what you thought he
deserved. I'm sure you were justified if Hunter was cheating."
Julia was laying it on thick now, trying to get Meddy to admit his
wrongdoing.

But Meddy was having none of it. "If I had
figured out how he'd cheated I'da beat him for sure and taken
whatever punishment was coming to me. Finnegan and Sheehan threw me
out and I had time to cool off. I'm choosing to bide my time and
get to the bottom of whatever that little rat is doing. I want that
useless tit, Merrick, to know. He refused to get involved last
week. Wouldn't hear what I had to say. I'll show them all when
Hunter comes back to the table and I figure it out."

He sounded adamant. Julia didn't know the man
well enough to tell if he was lying. He was a bully and in her
experience bullies often made up their stories to fit their
victimized version of things. She decided to approach from another
angle. "Where were you on Monday afternoon, Mr. Meddy?"