The Big Brush-off (20 page)

The sheriff nursed a beer inside as Laura and Ginger swept up broken glass in the lobby. Freddy and his girl, Sarah, cleaned up the deck. Using gloves and putty knives, Edwin and I removed the rest of the glass from the window frame then maneuvered a sheet of plywood over the opening and hammered it in place.

Ironically, the person who could've best helped was the man who caused most of the ruckus, Hank Winters.

After the cleanup, Freddy walked Sarah home, while Ginger and Edwin went inside the inn to attend to the rest of the guests, no doubt shaken from the altercation.

If Bishop hadn't come along when he did, I wasn't certain how things would've turned out. I hadn't drawn my gun and preferred the town not know I carried one. Just after ten, Bishop ordered another beer. He, Laura, and I sat at a deck table as the cicadas droned from the trees.

I told Bishop about following Nancy to St. Catherine's and our conversation with Father Ryan.

The sheriff took a long swallow of beer. “No one ever really questioned Father Ryan about Katie. I think I need to put the squeeze on him.”

Frustration rose in Laura's voice. “You still don't believe Alan and Nancy are involved.”

Before he answered, Freddy came up the sidewalk whistling “All I Do Is Dream of You.” He bounded up the steps with a broad smile on his face. “Evening, lady and gents.”

As he headed for the front door, Bishop stifled a belch and grabbed Freddy's sleeve. “I want to talk to you, son.”

The boy's smile faded. He pulled up a chair and sat. “Am I in trouble?”

Bishop smiled. “Not with me. I can't speak for Hank Winters, though.”

The kid grinned.

Bishop finished his beer. “Tell me what you told Jake and Laura about Alan Tremain and Nancy Oldfield.”

Freddy repeated what he told us about Alan sneaking away from Nancy's house early one morning a week earlier.

Bishop stared at Freddy. “He parked around the corner.”

“Sure,” confirmed Freddy, “like he didn't want to be seen in front of Nancy's house. Tell you the truth, I can't blame him.”

Laura frowned and shook her head at the kid.

Bishop drummed his fingers on the table. “Okay, thanks.”

After Freddy went inside, Bishop folded his hands. “Let's assume the kid's telling the truth. Hanover's a small town. Alan and Nancy went to high school together. Both are odd ducks who want to keep their relationship a secret. That isn't unusual in Hanover.”

Bishop had his own secret relationship with Rita.

Laura jumped to her feet. A tightness formed around her eyes as she struggled to keep a lid on her temper. “But if”—she lowered her voice—“Alan and Nancy are involved, maybe she knows him better than she lets on. Maybe she knows he killed Katie but still doesn't want to lose him.”

Bishop sighed. “You're making a lot of assumptions, Miss Wilson.”

Laura was, but she also had insight into people. “I suspect Nancy and Alan are hiding more than their relationship,” I said. “Nancy denies being involved, and Alan barely acknowledges knowing her in high school. I think Laura's on to something.”

Bishop shook his head. “You both may be right, but that proves nothing. Let's assume it happened like you said. Evidence is gone. Memories are faded. I could never take a case to the DA based on what we have.”

Unfortunately, Bishop was right. “Not without a confession.”

As Laura paced the deck, Bishop ran a hand over his chin. “We worked Alan over pretty good ten years ago, and he never cracked. He won't now.”

Laura stopped beside the table. A familiar look on her face told me an idea was churning in her mind. “Maybe we can get Nancy to crack.”

“What?” I patted her hand. “Sweetheart, you already poked Nancy about Alan, and she denied knowing the guy.”

Laura smiled. “We need to drive a wedge between them. This is going to sound crazy, but we have to get Nancy to think Alan is cheating on her like he cheated on Katie. We have to make her so jealous and angry at Alan she'll talk to me about what happened that night in high school.”

Bishop cocked his head. “How do you propose we make Nancy jealous?”

The front door opened and Ginger came out with a friendly smile. “Can I get you folks anything? Another beer, Sheriff?”

The three of us stared at Ginger, the aspiring actress. I recalled Alan making eyes at the pretty redhead.

Ginger pointed inside. “I was about to close up the dining room, but…” She ran a hand through her curls. “Do I have glass in my hair? Is there something on my face?”

I pulled out the chair Freddy had vacated.

Ginger sat, her eyes nervously dancing around the table at the three of us. “What's wrong?”

I gestured toward Laura. This was her idea.

Laura sat and spoke in her most soothing voice. “Tomorrow, after your performance as Princess Teleka, we'd like you to play another role.”

Ginger's face lit up. “Really?”

Laura nodded. “We'd like you to get someone to kiss you.”

Ginger gasped. “Who?”

“Alan Tremain.”

The girl's eyes fluttered. “That would be…I mean…” She took a deep breath. “I'm not the kind of girl who lets a man kiss me in public like that.”

Laura got up and stood behind the girl and gently squeezed her shoulders. “Ginger Conrad wouldn't do such a thing, but the girl whose part you're playing would. I once portrayed a hooker on Broadway. I wasn't
that
kind of girl, but I pulled it off, didn't I, Jake?”

“Pulled what off, sweetheart?” I pictured her skimpy costumes. “Oh, the role. Yes, Laura was wonderful, a kindhearted hooker, I might add.”

Ginger's hand went to her chest. “I don't know. Maybe I could do it. One little kiss?”

“Of course you can.” Laura hugged Ginger from behind and returned to her chair with a that's-the-spirit smile. “You're an actress.”

I wasn't sure if Ginger knew what we were asking. “You have to get Alan to kiss you, and it has to be a convincing kiss, a long, slow, amorous one, the kind that'll unlace a man's shoes.”

Ginger blushed. “You mean a deep kiss?”

Bingo.

“I don't know, in front of all those people. Am I…I mean this role I'm playing, am I supposed to make someone jealous? It's the Prune, isn't it?”

I nodded.

Bishop held up one hand. “Before this goes any further, you need to understand we believe Alan is guilty of a serious crime.”

“Alan?” Ginger's mouth dropped. “I don't really know him that well, but he seems so sweet.”

“He's not sweet.” Bishop growled. “He's dangerous.”

Ginger flipped her hair. “I don't believe that.”

I leaned toward her, my face close to hers. “Believe it, doll, because if you don't, we won't let you even try this.” I smacked my hand on the table. “Are you going to do it or not?”

Ginger shrank back in her chair, but she didn't seem scared by my outburst. She looked ready for an important role as she glanced around the table with the resolve of Greta Garbo. “If it's that important, I'll do it.”

While Laura slept beside me, I laid in bed wondering whether Ginger could make Nancy jealous enough to spill what she knew about Alan's past. I wasn't nearly as enthusiastic about Laura's plan as I had been the night before.

George Hanson might have given Katie a book of poems. He had plenty of character flaws, but he'd helped Hanover recover from the devastation caused by the Depression when he didn't have to.

Father Ryan had his faults, but he'd been a comfort to Mary and would be there for her until the inevitable end.

I should have pressed Bishop more. He had the best opportunity to kill Katie and had no alibi. I'd never heard of Luke Jackson until a few days ago. I should have pressed him when I had the opportunity. If we had more time, we could've followed Nancy and Alan, documenting their behavior with pictures, like I did in the old days. Sheriff Bishop could interrogate them in separate rooms until one of them spilled the truth about how far back their relationship went.

We didn't have time. In two days, Laura had a plane to catch.

I glanced at Laura, who slept soundly. I'd go through with her plan and, if Alan kissed Ginger, see how the other suspects reacted. Through the years I'd come through with my own wacky strategies. Laura had always been there for me, and I'd be there for her.

Her decision to catch the flight to Hollywood and help her manager work out a deal for her biggest movie opportunity yet was the right one and would surely solidify her career. My literary future was in a package somewhere between Hanover and New York.

I'd done my best to revive my Blackie Doyle series, but my literary fate would soon be in Mildred's hands.

I closed my eyes and dozed. I awoke to the sound of a shower. Laura stood under the spray, visible behind an opaque shower curtain. Only butterflies obscured my view. Seconds later, I joined her.

The Founder's Day pageant, featuring Ginger Conrad, was scheduled for noon. Before we left, I handed Laura my .38 and she stuffed the gun in her purse.

We wore trousers and casual cotton shirts and arrived at the town square right at ten.

Hanson's workers had transformed the park. They'd strung a white canvas canopy over a hundred chairs set up in front of the now-empty stage.

Freshly cut grass mixed with the aroma of grilled onions, hot dogs, and hamburgers. Near the food, people sat at a dozen picnic tables and on blankets they'd brought with them.

From time to time, I caught people staring or pointing at Laura and me, mostly Laura. There went the Hollywood couple. We fit in at Founder's Day like two hard-boiled eggs on a platter of meatballs.

I bought a bag of popcorn and we munched on the snack as we wandered through the town square like we'd lived there all our lives. Multicolored flags snapped in the warm morning breeze, beneath white clouds that might turn ominous by afternoon.

At least two hundred people had already packed the town square. Couples pushed baby strollers and kids played catch while others ran laughing through the park. Several people gathered beside the bronze statue of the soldier, watching a tall gent in an Uncle Sam costume juggle red, white, and blue balls. Beside him stood a clown with floppy shoes, fiery red hair, a white face, and a bulbous red nose, who passed out balloons to the kids.

The clown handed Laura a yellow balloon and smiled. “Good to see you out early, Miss Wilson, Jake.”

I stared into his eyes. “Edwin?”

He chuckled and honked a horn on his belt. “I do this every year.”

Laura laughed. “Who's minding the inn?”

“A big sign that says ‘At Founder's Day. Back at two.' ” He reached into his baggy pants and handed me an envelope. “In all of the commotion last night, I forgot to give you this. A telegram from New York.”

I took the envelope, as Edwin honked his horn and blew up a red balloon.

For a moment, the sights and sounds vanished. I ripped open the envelope. I'd never received a good news telegram, and this was from Mildred.

Laura pinched the skin around her throat. She looked more worried than I did. I took her aside. “It's from Mildred. ‘Four chapters in three days! They better be good. Mildred.' ”

Laura took the envelope and stuffed it in her purse. “She's going to love what you sent.”

Two toddlers with their parents close behind rushed toward the clown. Edwin handed them both suckers and waved as we walked on.

I couldn't think about Mildred, my chapters, or my future now. A shot of bourbon would work, but I'd yet to see any booze.

A half-dozen men churned ice cream dashers in wooden buckets next to a tub of ice and bags of rock salt. The image brought back memories of helping my old man make ice cream on July Fourth.

Laura took my arm and slipped it around her waist. “I can see why you always had fond memories of Hanover, in spite of the circumstances that brought you here.”

The joy on people's faces reminded me of the Hanover of ten years ago. At the center of it all was George Hanson, shaking hands and slapping backs. I was still sore about people trying to run us out of town. Only one man could be responsible.

Laura and I approached Hanson, who held out his hand.

I ignored the offer. “You've got quite a racket going. Ten years ago you were just a teacher, now you seem to run Hanover.”

A worried expression crossed his face. “What are you talking about?”

I told him about the welcoming committee the night before, as if he hadn't heard.

“You can't think I had anything to do with that!”

“You have all the angles covered, don't you? Your small-town arrogance won't be enough to get rid of Laura and me, unless we want to go.”

A startled sputter came from his mouth.

I turned my back, and Laura and I walked away.

She spoke softly. “You were kind of rough on him, don't you think?”

We weaved our way through the crowd. “Is he bleeding?”

“No.”

“Then I wasn't too rough.”

Laura took my hand. We sat beneath the canopy as a bluegrass band took the stage and began to play. The music was different than any from New York or Hollywood, but I found myself tapping my toe in time to the rhythm.

Beside the stage, Evelyn Hanson was talking animatedly to Nancy Oldfield, who was holding the princess costume while Ginger sat in the front row rocking in a wooden chair.

Before we could hide, Evelyn waved frantically to Laura and me.

When we reached the stage, Evelyn looked ready to explode. “Ginger's acting like a spoiled brat. She's going to ruin this for me. Do something, Laura.”

Laura introduced me to Nancy then nodded to Evelyn. “I'll talk to her.”

Nancy was wearing a yellow hat with brown flowers, a beige skirt and blouse, and penny loafers. Her bun was gone, revealing shoulder-length hair but, in her horn-rimmed glasses and drab clothes, her mousy appearance prevailed. She'd yet to look me in the eye. “Ginger's just nervous. I know how she feels.”

How did she know? “How do you know how she feels?”

Nancy's face flushed. “I was Princess Teleka nine years ago.”

“How did you do?”

Nancy smiled. “Let's say I'm a better seamstress than actress.”

Something behind the woman's eyes told me she was more confident than she liked to let on. She was involved with a scoundrel who'd been a leading suspect in her childhood friend's murder. I wanted to ask her about that, but the question would jeopardize Laura's plan. “I'm sure you were wonderful.”

I wanted to ask more questions, but Ginger's face was filled with panic. “I better see if I can help.” I hurried to Laura and Ginger.

The young woman was breathing rapidly. “I can't breathe. I can't breathe.” She was hyperventilating.

I dumped my popcorn out of its bag. “Keep this around your mouth and breathe.”

Ginger took several breaths then returned the bag to me. “I can't do this. I can't!”

Laura set a hand on Ginger's shoulder. “Of course you can. It's just like in rehearsals.”

Ginger whispered, “No, I can be Princess Teleka. I meant the other role, to get Alan to kiss me.”

Laura was better at talking to young girls than I was. She remained calm. “Tune everyone out. Pretend you're standing outside your front door after going to the movies. Do what comes naturally. You can do this. Now relax.”

She took a ragged breath. “I can do this. I can do this.”

Nancy handed Ginger the Princess Teleka dress she'd sewn. “You're going to be fabulous.”

Ginger's eyes widened. Her goal was to make Nancy jealous. She grabbed the dress and marched off. Apparently, making Nancy jealous started with acting like a diva.

Nancy's mouth dropped. “What's with her?”

I thought about Laura's fear for Nancy's safety. I wanted to warn the woman about Alan, but I couldn't jeopardize our plan. I answered with a shrug.

Sheriff Bishop pulled up in a patrol car. While Laura helped Nancy and Evelyn get ready for Ginger's performance, I greeted the sheriff as he stepped from the car.

He glanced around at the crowded town square. “I should never have agreed to Laura's plan. I'd consumed one too many beers.”

This wasn't the time for the sheriff to get cold feet. “Relax. This is going to work. Ginger's ready to work her magic.”

“Even if it works, then what?”

I waited until a young couple holding hands passed by. “You tail Alan. Do what you can to keep him away from Nancy. Laura and I will follow her and make sure there's an opportunity to get her to talk.”

Bishop stared at me. “It's easy for you to say. You don't have to run for reelection. Where's Alan?”

“I haven't seen him.”

Bishop shook his head. “This is going off like clockwork.” He stomped away.

“Hey, Mr. Donovan.” Freddy came up, eating a caramel apple on a stick. “You should try these. They're great.”

“No, thanks.” I needed bourbon, not sweets.

A pretty young girl in a pink cotton dress and ribbons in her blond hair came up. “Morning, Freddy.”

The kid gave her the once-over. “Sarah? Is that you?”

“Do you like my dress?” The second baseman on his baseball team twirled like a vaudeville dancer.

He took another bite and nearly choked. “You look swell, but I thought we were going to play ball.”

She turned her back. “If you'd rather play ball with your friends, go right ahead. I'll find someone else to talk to.”

Freddy looked to me for help, but the kid was on his own.

He took Sarah's hand. “Let's go get a good seat, then I'll buy you some ice cream.”

The girl answered with a smile. As the bluegrass band left the stage, the kids headed toward the rapidly filling covered chairs.

I followed them and sat beside Laura in the third row, behind Freddy and Sarah.

Someone tapped me on the shoulder.

In the row behind me, Rita Banks handed me a slip of paper. “I found this in my original notes. Maybe it's important. Maybe it's not.”

I opened the paper, and Laura and I scanned the page.

Laura let out a gasp. “Nancy and Katie auditioned for the role of Princess Teleka. Katie won.”

Nancy was jealous of Katie and not just over a boy. I handed the paper back to Rita. “Thanks.”

Father Ryan slowly advanced toward the stage, with Mary Caldwell holding on to his arm. He led her to a seat in the front row and sat beside her.

Most of the crowd fanned themselves with programs as Hanson held up both hands and thanked everyone for making Founder's Day possible. He began a speech about the current challenges facing Hanover and presented an optimistic view of the town's future. As a way to introduce the Founder's Day re-creation, he talked about the past and how Indians and settlers made peace and set up camp in what today was known as Hanover.

From the corner of my eye, I noticed someone ride up on a bicycle. Luke Jackson hopped off the bike and stood watching the show.

In her princess costume, Ginger took the stage with two men in coonskin hats. Hanson took a seat beside his wife as the two settlers jawed about putting down roots in the valley. One man mentioned the Indian problem.

Ginger began her soliloquy and delivered an emotional performance. She was no Laura, but she made a believable virgin princess. She transported the audience back to the 1700s, but my mind only went back ten years.

Katie Caldwell, the girl I knew only from pictures, stood on the stage as the Indian princess. In the front row, Mary Caldwell dabbed at her eyes with a hankie. No doubt she was thinking the same thing.

Nancy stood to the side, just where Laura said she'd be, but Alan was nowhere to be seen. If he didn't show, our last best chance to find out whether he murdered Katie would vanish.

Ginger finished to a round of applause. Laura and I stood and cheered, but the loudest ovation came from a clown in the back, whistling with two fingers. Hanson hugged Ginger and thanked the other actors then encouraged everyone to purchase items and enjoy the rest of Founder's Day.

I got up, fighting panic as I couldn't find Alan. I breathed a sigh of relief when I spotted him standing on the opposite side of the stage from Nancy.

Ginger sashayed toward Alan, with her hands behind her back. I couldn't hear the words but, from her reaction, Alan said something flattering. With Nancy in proximity, however, he wasn't nearly as brash as he'd been at the inn when Laura and I interrupted him sweet-talking Ginger.

I reached for Laura's hand. “So far so good.”

We stepped into the aisle, and Laura bit her lip. “He's not going to kiss her.”

Laura edged her way through the crowd and stood behind Nancy.

Ginger was bubbly, vivacious, and flirtatious. Her hand occasionally touched his arm as she talked, but Alan never made a move. Still, Ginger did her best to appear to hang on his every word.