Chapter 12

The door to the police station weighed a thousand pounds. I scanned the surrounding area. Photos of police chiefs, past and present, bedecked the wall above a row of distressed black vinyl chairs. Most of the chairs’ torn seats revealed a thin layer of white stuffing. No chance of anyone getting too comfortable here, no sir. My bra had more padding than these chairs. A wide staircase led to a row of closed doors. Probably offices, I’d assumed. I wondered if the facility had holding cells on-site or if they ushered the suspects directly to the big boy jail. Go to jail and don’t pass go, as the Monopoly game goes. I shuddered. Hopefully, I’d never have to find out. 

I plodded toward a counter surrounded by a glass enclosure, wishing I could evanesce. No such luck. A woman with readers perched on her nose, and a blouse that would make even Jade blush, stood behind the counter and looked up as I approached.

“How can I help you?” she asked, her voice silvery. “If you’re here for court, it’s upstairs.” She pointed to the staircase behind me. 

“I’m here for Detective Griffin. Andie Rose Kaczmarek. He’s expecting me.”

“One moment, please.”

The woman picked up a phone receiver, punched in a set of numbers, and turned slightly left to talk. Her boobs, resting on the counter, almost knocked the grimy pen holder over. Apparently used to the drill, she nabbed it with expertise before it fell.

“Detective Griffin,” she said, “there’s an Andie Rose here…yes, sir…okay…yes…okay, sir.” She hung up, turned back toward me, hand still on the penholder, and faced me again. “Officer Wilson will be here to get you.”

“Get me?” I asked, my legs wobbling a bit. “I have my service dog here,” I said, nodding toward Aspen. 

She leaned forward, pressed her forehead to the glass, and looked at Aspen. “The little fella can go with you, of course.”

“Go with me where?”

“To an interview room. I’ll get a bowl of water for your guy.” 

“Thank you,” I said as she turned to leave.

I looked around the room before Aspen and I trudged toward the row of chairs. I sat at the end nearest to the door. Just in case. I made a snorting noise, startling Aspen. Like I’d stand a chance if I made a run for it. It appeared more than a few others had the same thought because this specific chair was by far in the worst shape. As casually as possible, I switched the chair with the one next to it, but one leg let out an ear-piercing scrape on the floor, giving me away. A female officer happened by and said, “You’re not the first one to switch around those chairs. They’re in sorry shape.”

I forced a smile. “I’m sure I’m not,” I said, but she’d already breezed right on by and outside of hearing range. You could bet that if I’d said something I didn’t want her to hear, she would have. Murphy’s law; Sod’s law; whatever. 

“You’re sure you’re not what?” The woman previously behind the counter laid a bowl of water on the floor in front of Aspen, her cleavage revealing impending disaster. I swiveled my head to avoid witnessing an awkward moment. But as with the penholder, she’d skillfully stood at the precise moment. I could imagine how many officers visited her at the front desk, accidentally on purpose dropping something. Perverts.

“Thank you,” I said as I artfully multitasked—watching Aspen gratefully lap up the water and ditch my attitude.

“Anything for the innocent ones. We don’t get a lot of those in here.”

Feeling short of breath, I forced a deep inhale. Had they already made up their minds? Do they assume those of us who say I didn’t do it were guilty until proven innocent? That’s not how the justice system was supposed to work. But if I didn’t do it, I would not say I did. I was in a lose-lose situation here. “Dogs,” she added quickly. “We don’t get many dogs in here.” I glanced at her. “I saw the look of panic on your face.”

Whew. “Overthinking things, I guess.” I sighed through an exhale and sank on the edge of the chair. Despite it having the most stuffing, it was still unforgiving to my sit bones. I readjusted my position. Aspen lapped more of his water before sitting at attention beside me.

By the time Officer Wilson came out for me, we’d waited for what seemed like an eternity. So when I glanced at the clock on the wall across from me, just over his head, I was surprised to see it had only been seven minutes. 

“Andie Rose?” he asked.

“That’s me.” I stood and nodded toward Aspen. “This is my service dog.”

“I see that,” he said, pointing toward Aspen’s orange and yellow harness. “You can come with me.”

Wait. I can go with him? Did that mean I had a choice? If so, it was a no-brainer. Deciding not to revert to the rebel of my youth and cause a stir at the onset, I acquiesced and followed him. “I hope this won’t take long. I need to get back to the Spirit Lake Inn and relieve my sous-chef.”

“I’m sure Detective Griffin will make it as quick and painless as possible,” he said. He whistled as he led me down a harsh, fluorescent-lit hallway, both abrading my nerves. 

“How long have you worked here?” I asked, an attempt to tranquilize said nerves.

“’Bout six years. How long’ve you lived here?” 

“About six months,” I said.

“Didn’t take you long to visit us, did it?” I clamped my lips tight to avoid snarking at him. The nerve-grating whistling started again as we turned down yet another hallway. Happiness should be illegal at a time like this. I’d have to write to my congress person.

Striving to snap out of my mood, I decided small talk was better than stewing in my mental stink. “This place is bigger than I thought.”

“It’s not all for us,” he said, turning into a room smelling of disinfectant.

At least the chairs were decent. And that it wasn’t a jail cell was bonus.

“We share the building with the courts and the probation office.”

“One-stop shopping.”

“Depends which side of the law you’re on. Hopefully, that won’t be the case for you.”

“You and me both,” I muttered.

Once he left Aspen and me alone again—with a promise that Detective Griffin would be with me in just a moment—I sat on the chair I’d initially declined when we’d entered. Once again, Aspen planted himself by my feet. I stroked his neck and back. If this drama didn’t trigger a panic attack, I was convinced nothing ever would again. Now there’s a silver lining. 

I’d just pushed myself back on the chair and crossed my legs, one arm wrapped around my middle, when Detective Griffin popped the door open. I shot up in my chair, both feet on the floor, and clutched Aspen’s leash. The detective shoved the door closed with his foot and dropped a file on the table before he sat opposite me. He smiled at Aspen. Women softened toward men with babies or puppies. Too bad it wasn’t reciprocal. 

“Mornin’,” he said, slapping open the file, wasting no time. “Let’s get this show on the road. I’m sure you have places to be.”

His words issued a tsunami of hope. “Yes, sir. I have to relieve my sous-chef and begin looking for a replacement for Ivan,” I said, my words unintentionally clipped.

He looked up at me. I was surprised to see a somewhat warm look in his eyes. “Relax, Ms. Kaczmarek. I’m not the big bad wolf.”

I nodded stiffly and kept my fingers buried in Aspen’s silky fur. 

“I just have a few questions for you. Shouldn’t take long.”

“Do I need a lawyer, Detective?”

“Like I said, it shouldn’t take long,” he said again, evading the question.

“Lawyer?” I said again.

He paused and closed his eyes momentarily, but long enough that I caught his vexation. “Are you asking for one?”

“I’m asking if I should get one.”

“That’s up to you. I’m sure I don’t have to tell you it makes my job easier without a lawyer getting in the way. How about I ask you a couple of things and if you decide you need one, let me know and I’ll stop the conversation.”

I resented the way he said need one.

Our eyes met for an uncomfortable moment before I finally said, “I’m not guilty. So ask away.”

The corners of his lips pulled upward ever so slightly. He sat back and crossed one leg over the other, hands clasped behind his head in a relaxed manner.

His gaze briefly rested on me. “Can you tell me how your prints got on the murder weapon?”

Boom! I had been right after all. I choked on the brutality of the verbal sucker punch. Aspen sat up, turning his face toward me. I cursed my stupidity in passing on retaining a lawyer. While it wasn’t too late, I feared if I asked for one after piercing me with the zinger he had, he’d determine me guilty straightaway. His eyes were like lasers now as he focused on my every move. Heck, my every breath.

Four in; hold for four; four out; hold for four…Finally able to talk, I asked, “My prints? You know I don’t even drink.”

“Exactly. So you can see why this is problematic.”

“This is all a misunderstanding. There’s a very good explanation.”

He remained quiet, focused on me. I wondered if he was hoping I’d say something to trip me up. I shifted my weight, wrapped an arm around my stomach, and averted my gaze until I was unable to stand the silence anymore.

“You’ve already judged me as guilty, haven’t you?”

“It’s not my job to judge, Ms. Kaczmarek. That’s for a jury to decide. My job is to collect the evidence and you can see what that’s telling me. Evidence doesn’t lie.” He steadied his chair by placing all four legs on the floor and leaned his forearms on the table, tapping his pen lightly.

“I’m waiting to hear this explanation you don’t seem to wanna disclose.”

“I didn’t kill Ivan.”

“That’s your explanation? That’s a weak argument at best.”

I squirmed in my chair. “Well, it’s not like I can think clearly with you staring at me.”

He nodded. “Okay, let’s start with your prints. How did they get on the murder weapon?”

I relayed the events of the night Brad and I were at Brewski’s, when I’d fiddled with the corkscrew during Brad’s proposal. After half an hour of answering his subsequent questions (the same questions asked in several ways, only worded differently), he stopped jotting notes, turned off his recording device, and sat back. He tossed his pen and his readers on top of the file folder. 

“So here’s the deal.” He leaned his chair back on two legs again and reached his arms behind him, clasping his hands behind his head. I only wished I could be so relaxed. “I gotta say I knew your grandparents, and I don’t like you for the murder.” 

“Don’t like me?” My heart thudded in my chest. I’d hoped Aspen had saved my bacon with that part.

“Cop speak; I don’t think you did it,” he clarified.

“Because you knew my grandparents?” I thought that odd, but still shot a silent thank you up to Grandpop and Honey.

“Everyone in this town loved your grandpa and Honey. But evidence is evidence, even if it is only circumstantial. The murder weapon has your fingerprints on it. That’s a fact. But it also has two more prints. Presumably, one is the man who’d used it to open the bottle. And the server who cleared the table along with the corkscrew. She said she turned her back on the tray for about fifteen seconds while she attended to other business, but she swore no one was around the area at the time. Unlike the inn, no one claimed to have spotted any ghosts in Brewski’s, and the corkscrew didn’t strut itself down to the inn. See the hangup there?” 

“But there’s proof it was still there when I left the bar?”

“A corkscrew, yes. But we can’t know if it was the corkscrew. Get my drift?” 

“Well, I only touched one. So if my fingerprints were on it, that’s the one it was. The one from the table.”

“You claim you only touched one, but I don’t know of a single suspect who claimed to have touched a murder weapon. That said, given the circumstances, I don’t have enough to hold you on yet.”

Yet? I swallowed hard. “So I’m free to go?” I had a murder to solve.

He sat his chair upright again, put his hands, palms down, on the table, and pushed himself to a standing position. “For now. But I don’t need to tell you not to go anywhere.”

I heaved a sigh of relief and said, “Innocent people don’t run.”

He nodded. “Not if they really are innocent.” He gave me a sidelong look. “Don’t prove me wrong, because one piece of solid evidence, and I’ll be at your door.”

“Yes, sir.”

He led me back toward the front lobby. I pushed the door open, stepped outside, gulped fresh air, and hopped down the two stairs to the parking lot. “Come on, Aspen. We have work to do and a killer to catch.”

When I returned to the inn, Sister Alice zoomed her moped beside my car. A woman hopped out of the sidecar and stood, smoothing her shirt. I couldn’t determine if the disheveled look was her usual or from the ride here. 

“Good gracious,” the woman exclaimed. “I didn’t think we’d make it here alive.”

Aspen apparently sensed her emotional state and trotted over to give her some lovin’ by licking her hand. 

Sister Alice chortled and looked at me. “She was screaming like a little girl before we’d even left the house.”

I laughed. “I assume this is Sister Eunice?” 

“The one and only,” Sister Alice said. “She will be your saving grace around here until you find a replacement.”

“Sister Alice, I told you we need to—”

“Talk to Tony, I know. But he’ll agree if he doesn’t want to work himself to death. Finding a suitable replacement isn’t as easy in a small town as he might think it will be. Tourists are on vacation, not looking for work.” 

Aspen turned his attention from Sister Eunice back to me, and we walked into the foyer. Lily was perched behind the desk on the phone; Jade leaned over the desk, studying the reservation book.

“Good golly, girl,” Sister Alice said to Jade. “Tuck in the twins, honey. This isn’t that kind of establishment. Not everyone wants to see your—assets.”

Jade stood, gripped the neckline of her scoop-neck orange sweater and pulled it up. Lily laughed loudly. Jade scowled and grumbled, “Bat.”

Avoiding further altercations, I took an arm of each Sister Alice and Sister Eunice. “Come on. Let’s go to the kitchen and talk with Tony.” 

As we turned the corner into the kitchen, Tony peered inside an oven. A mouth-watering scent drifted toward us. When he closed the oven door, it whooshed the delightful aroma even more. I swallowed my hunger and said, “Tony, this is Sister Eunice. She’s here to help until we find a permanent replacement.”

“Do you have experience outside a convent kitchen?” he asked. His tone dripped with skepticism. I shot him a look to which he lifted his shoulders as if mentally relaying, What?

“Tony, since you’re in the middle of finishing lunch and preparing for afternoon tea, maybe Sister Eunice could help. That way, you both can see if it’s something that’s workable short-term.”

Without waiting for Tony’s approval, Sister Eunice said, “Show me where the aprons are, kiddie, and I’ll show you what I got. Watch out, Gordon Ramsay; I’m moving in.”

I grinned. One of my coaching niches is confidence, but Sister Eunice could teach me a thing or two about it. 

Tony jerked his head back in surprise, then grinned. He pointed with the butcher knife in his hand to a bank of drawers on his left. “Third one down.” 

Sister Alice and I turned to leave. “I think it’s safe to assume they’ll be just fine,” she said. “And you’re welcome.”

“Have time for tea or coffee?” I asked as I led the way to the coffee bar. “I’ll fill you in on my lovely visit with Detective Griffin.” 

Sister Alice stayed by my side as she followed me to where the green neon Coffee Bar sign hung above the alcove. “Wonder why they call it a coffee bar,” she said. “I mean, they don’t call it a beer bar or a whiskey bar. It’s just a bar.”

I shook my head. “Good grief. Only an alcoholic wonders about that kind of thing.”

“Aren’t you just a riot?” she scoffed. 

“I’m told I used to be.”