Chapter 14

In a final attempt to escape the deadly sidecar, Sister Eunice once again offered—more like pleaded—to stay at the inn until Tony needed her to take over at three.

“The only purpose going back to town now would serve is to inconvenience you or Andie Rose.”

I shot that suggestion down faster than terminal velocity. If Sister Eunice didn’t ride back to town, Sister Alice would insist I ride with her instead of driving my own car.

“I won’t hear of it. You’ll tire of it here fast enough the way it is.”

Sister Alice was no dimwit and caught on to my scheming. 

“One who needs a ride takes what I offer or walks,” she said, glancing at Sister Eunice. Then she stared at me over the rims of today’s orange frames.

I swallowed a giggle, then said under my breath, “Walk.” She either didn’t hear or chose not to.

I glanced toward the doorway. Aspen lazed in the sun, nose propped on his crossed paws. Usually, we played with his favorite red ball daily, but as of late, it had gone by the wayside. He loved to take off at a dead run as I threw the ball, then gallop back, dropping the slobbery toy at my feet.

“Let’s go,” Sister Alice said, smacking her hands together. “I don’t have all day.”

Sister Eunice grumbled as she trudged outside and hopped into the sidecar. Before she could put on her helmet, I said, “Hey, Sister Eunice, if you can convince Aspen to jump into the back seat, you can ride with me into town.”

With one glance at Aspen, sitting tall and proud in the front seat, she waved her hand in dismissal and slipped her helmet on. “Thanks anyway.”

The drive into town was stunning, as usual. (I can’t say Sister Eunice experienced the same as me.) Every season had its beauty: the lush green of summer, the light lime-green fresh growth in spring, the silent, pristine snow in winter, but the brilliant-colored foliage of fall was my favorite. 

The businesses on both sides of Spirit Lane were decorated to the hilt in anticipation of the upcoming Harvest Festival; part of its festivities included a fall decorating contest. As a kid, I remembered participating in apple dunking, face painting, and the costumes most locals wore throughout the week-long festival. 

When we arrived at St. Michael’s, Sister Eunice jumped out of the sidecar before Sister Alice had even turned off the motor. She whipped her helmet off, scraped her teeth with a tissue, and stalked off.

Sister Alice placed the helmet in the sidecar and removed her own. “If she’d keep her mouth shut, the bugs wouldn’t get in her teeth.”

“It’s hard to scream with your mouth closed,” I said. “Have you tried it? My car windows were up, and I heard her. Aspen even howled.”

She smirked. “The good Lord saw to it that she got here safely.” 

I scanned the empty parking lot. “Doesn’t look like anyone is here.”

“Father Vincent parks in the alley behind the church. Luka isn’t a full-time employee; he has another job. Add to that a lot of his diaconate duties are spent out and about, so…”

“All that to say he might not be here right now? Would have been nice to know that beforehand.” 

“Think of it this way; you got to get out of the inn for a while—someplace other than the police station. Does you good to clear your head.” 

“We should swing by Brewski’s and see if Mike Swanson is there.”

She shot me a sidelong look. “Liking the pub a little too much, aren’t you?” Then she gave me the old eye roll. “Except, sadly, that’s where we may find him. Talking with him after he’s had a few could either be our friend or foe.”

“Exactly. His alcohol-lubricated lips could offer up useful information, or he’ll be defensive and argumentative.” Aspen looked at me with his irresistible eyes and cocked his head to the side, as if suggesting a walk would make good use of our time. I rubbed his neck. “Later, buddy.” He lowered his chin but kept his eyes on me, letting me know that wasn’t the anticipated answer.

“Defensive and argumentative isn’t all bad,” Sister Alice surmised. “As long as he’s uninhibited and talking at all, he’ll give up something he hadn’t intended.”

I snorted. “That was my downfall as a teen when I lived at home. I couldn’t keep my mouth shut. Got me in trouble more times than I could count.”

“Why doesn’t that surprise me?” Two tiny rhinestones on her eyewear sparkled in the sunlight. 

She seized the large brass antique handle on the heavy oak door of the church entrance that led into the narthex and waited for me to pass through. I hesitated. Other than for AA meetings, I hadn’t been inside a church for years. And for meetings, we used the small side entrance leading to the basement.

“I’d better stay out here with Aspen,” I finally said.

“He’s welcome inside. Mass isn’t going on.” I hesitated. “Come now,” she said, her tone dancing with amused impatience. “You won’t go up in flames. God invites and loves us all as we are.”

I dipped my chin and glanced at her warily. “You, maybe.” I stepped through the door, keeping Aspen close to me. I paused on the other side, waiting for the hand of God to strike me down.

“Look who just pulled up,” she said. 

I turned around as a white sedan pulled into the lot. “Is that Luka?”

“Sure is.” 

We waited for him to get out of his car—which seemed to take an eternity—until he finally reached the door. His sparse hair, long, narrow nose, and slightly down-turned lips reminded me of Ebenezer Scrooge. This guy wouldn’t need a costume for the festival at all. He was set to go. 

“Sister Alice,” he said in greeting, sounding more like a question. 

“Hello, Luka. Busy day?” The heavy door whined as it closed slowly behind him, and we stood in the narthex.

“Just came from the hospital. Marie Dayton is in there, you know. She asked for the anointing of the sick blessing.” 

“Is she doing any better?” 

“Her daughter, Ella, says she isn’t. But her daughter is also—how shall we say it—”

“Hoping for her inheritance sooner rather than later?” 

Luka paused, frowned, then nodded. “Unfortunately.” 

“How are you doing with Ivan Laskin’s death? I know the two of you used to be friends.”

Luka stiffened. “Used to be, yes. That ended years ago.” 

“Still, it can’t be easy,” she said. 

“When was the last time you saw him?” I asked.

Luka stopped and faced forward a beat before turning his attention back toward us.

“When we had a falling out years ago.”

“Oh,” I said, shrugging. “That must be awkward with Spirit Lake a small town and all.”

“I’ve seen him in passing, but we haven’t talked much.”

“Not much or not at all?” Realizing how that might have sounded, I winced inwardly. The last thing I wanted was to shut him down.

“Surface talk. We didn’t exactly socialize in the same circles anymore.” His voice was as tight as Jade’s jeans. The ones she would soon have to retire for something with a little give. His lips all but disappeared as he pressed them together. 

“Did you see him the day he was killed?” I asked.

He turned his head, giving me the side eye. 

“Young lady, I’m not sure I appreciate where you’re going with this.”

Sister Alice placed her arm across my chest to keep me from moving forward. She should have put it across my mouth instead. 

“I was just wondering—” I began before she interrupted me.

“If you saw him perhaps arguing with anyone that day.”

Luka relaxed. “Of course. My apologies. It still seems a little crazy is all. Spirit Lake used to be a safe town.” He leveled his gaze at me for a hot moment then said, “I saw him leaving Brewski’s that evening.”

“Oh?” The hair at the nape of my neck prickled. 

“He got in his car and pulled a U-turn in the middle of Spirit Lane, heading toward your place, Ms. Kaczmarek. I was concerned he was driving in his apparent condition. You know, having been drinking and on his phone. Whoever he was talking to, it wasn’t a pleasant conversation.”

“How could you tell?”

“Flipped the bird at the phone. Kind of hard to miss.”

“Hm.” I considered this new information. “Do you know Mike Swanson, Luka?” I asked. 

“Of course. He’s been dating Ella Dayton for some time now. I’ve counseled her a time or two. Mike used to be a member of our congregation, but he has since fallen away. We’ve been praying for his return. And for yours.” He nodded toward me, and I squirmed. “Why do you ask?”

“Someone saw him arguing with Ivan in the pub the other day.”

Luka appeared to process the news. “I can’t say as I’m surprised.”

“Why not? Surprised, I mean.”

“Both have tempers. Especially when they’re drinking. Besides, I’m afraid they’ve been verbal sparring partners on more than a few occasions, even when alcohol isn’t involved.”

“Do you know what they’ve sparred about?” Sister Alice asked.

He shook his head. “Nope, can’t say that I do. Like I said, I haven’t talked with Ivan for years, and Michael has left the church.”

“Ella didn’t say anything about it to you in your sessions?” I asked.

“Sister Alice,” he said, turning his attention toward her as if indicating I was too dense to understand the obvious. “I can’t disclose what someone tells me in a counseling session.”

“So she has spoken about it with you,” Sister Alice said. He dipped his chin and looked at her under bushy eyebrows, a stern, what-did-I-just-tell-you look. Sister Alice said, “Father Vincent said a great deal of collection money has gone missing along with the miscellaneous items that have sprouted legs.”

Luka sighed. “Yes, he mentioned that.”

“Makes one wonder how much Ella needs money.”

“Hm,” he answered, pondering the suggestion. “It’s possible, I suppose. About as possible as it is anybody else from the congregation. Or nobody from the congregation at all.” 

“Does everyone have access to the money? That seems a little risky,” I said.

Turning his head toward me, impatient, he said, “Of course not. How does anyone acquire things that don’t belong to them? Theft.” He looked back at Sister Alice. “If you will excuse me, I need to go give Father Vincent an update on Marie’s condition.” He touched the brim of his hat, turned, and pushed through the doors to the nave, and walked up the aisle toward the altar. 

After he disappeared around a corner, my eyes strayed to the nave’s large stained-glass windows with beautiful images that, as a child, frightened me. I looked at the altar again, expecting something—well, I didn’t know what to expect, but it filled me with serene peace. Peace was short-lived, however. Guilt shoved it right out the door, consuming me as I thought about how disappointed Grandpop and Honey would be at how far I’d strayed from the Catholic church. Or any church. I quickly glanced away and toward Sister Alice as I scratched the top of Aspen’s head.

“What do you think?” I asked her. “He didn’t seem too concerned about the missing collection money. And if Ella is dating Mike Swanson, and Mike and Ivan knew each other, that means Ella knew Ivan, too.”

She looked at me and shook her head. “I disagree. Do you know all of Brad’s friends?”

“No, but we don’t live in the same small town. When we lived close to each other, it was in the city. Hardly the same thing.”

Sister Alice shrugged, then said, “What does the missing collection money have to do with Ivan? Clearly, it wasn’t him, or we have more than one ghost in this town. Not saying we don’t. But Ivan’s ghost wouldn’t be as friendly as the one at your inn.”

“I’m only saying we shouldn’t rule out that the church thief isn’t the same person who killed Ivan.”

She pushed her glasses up with the back of her hand. “Unless we find evidence supporting that, I think it’s a long shot. Thievery and murder are miles apart.” 

I sighed. “Well, what vibe did you get from talking with Luka? Think he could have murdered Ivan?”

She tilted her head side to side. “I believe Luka is hiding something, but I don’t think that something is murder.”

I took a deep breath. “Well, in order to get myself and my staff off the hook, I need something more solid than you don’t think Luka did it.”

“Have you talked to that man of yours? Does he have an alibi?”

“Brad?” A knot formed in my stomach. “Why does he need an alibi?”

“Because he saw Ivan threatening his hopeful fiancée. We don’t know the exact time of death, so he might not have been with you at the time of the murder. I’m not the only one to realize that. Why do you think Detective Griffin wants to talk with him?”

I smacked my palm against my forehead. “That’s it. If he was with me at the time of the murder, he’s my alibi, too. We need to nail down a time frame.”

She fingered and adjusted the crucifix hanging from her neck. “The police have talked to Brad already, yes?” 

“He said Detective Griffin left him a voicemail, but I don’t know if Brad has called him back yet.” I took out my phone. “Hopefully they haven’t. I need to talk to him before they do.”

Sister Alice pressed her hand on mine, preventing me from punching in Brad’s number. “So you can what, set up a fake alibi? As your sponsor, I’m telling you that’s not a good idea.”

“I just want to be sure we have our times straight.”

“And you can’t do that unless you conspire?”

My shoulders sank, and I exhaled through pursed lips. “I’m trying, okay?” 

“Trying to what, exactly—prove the innocence of you and your staff or prove you’re not trustworthy?” I stared at her, knowing she was right and hating it. “We’re to do the next right thing, Andie Rose. That’s all. Not justifying what we want to do. Remember what we say in the program, justify is—” 

“Just a lie,” I finished, and groaned in frustration. “I know. I know.” I rubbed my palm against my eye, then looked at her. “I need to get back to the inn and see if anyone has responded to my online call-out for a sous-chef. And I’m sure you have better things to do than solve a murder.”

She smiled. “Yes, but none as fun.” 

“You have a sick sense of fun,” I grumbled.

She touched my hand lightly. I absorbed the moment of comfort before Aspen and I walked to the car and headed back toward the inn.

I glanced at my phone in the carrier on the dash, tempted to call Brad. Eventually, the temptation grew to an inability to concentrate on anything except calling Brad. All self-control had gone out the window. I began requesting my smartphone to dial Brad’s number, but stopped short when I saw Jade’s husband, Tom, emerge from the alley alongside the Spirit Lake library and disappear behind the library doors. I had only seen him once, but given his unmistakable tough-boy strut, I was sure it was him. I zipped into an empty parking spot, grateful I’d recently mastered parallel parking after years of causing dings and dents. Aspen looked at me and cocked his head to the side as if to say, Really? Can’t we just go home? I deserve a biscuit.

“Sorry, buddy,” I said, rubbing the fur on his neck. “This’ll just take a minute.” I was sure I heard him grumble his disapproval. As famished as I was from not eating, it could have been my stomach that grumbled.

Inside the door, I glanced around, finally spotting Tom, thanks to one of the half-dome safety mirrors more likely placed to catch people from committing the grievous crime of mis-shelving books than for safety or theft prevention. Whatever the reason, it worked in my favor now. Aspen obediently stayed by my side and was quiet. I popped him a dog chew. I tried to be strict about treats, but I hoped it would make up for the lack of attention he’d received from me the last couple of days.

I watched Tom, unnoticed, for a moment. When I saw the opened book in his hands, HOW TO GET AWAY WITH MURDER: Evil Masterminds Who Evaded Capture, I gasped, and he spun toward me. 

“Can I help you?” he asked, glancing down at Aspen and then back at me. 

I essayed to resume normal breathing. “You’re Jade’s husband, right?”

His jaw muscles clenched. “For now.”

My heart pounded in my ears as my gaze flicked to the book, then back to him. “For now?”

He exhaled and rubbed the back of his neck. “Yes, I’m her husband.” He planted his feet firmly apart. “Why?”

“Do you have a minute to talk?” 

“You’re her boss, Andie something-or-other,” he said as if I’d forgotten who I was. 

For now, I almost said. “Yes. Andie Rose.” I looked at the book in his hands again and asked, “Planning something?” I hoped to convey a light tone so he wouldn’t suspect anything and practice the tips given in the book to evade capture after killing me.

He looked at the book and then at me. “Nope. This kind of stuff fascinates me. Entertainment.”

That’s not disturbing at all. “Oh.” We stood silent for a moment before I asked, “Tom, did you know Ivan Laskin?”

He scowled, his eyes hard as flint. He tossed the book on top of some shelved books. Instinctively, I glanced at the half-dome mirror to see if the shelving police had noticed. Seeing nothing, I looked back at him.

“If you’re here to tell me about my wife, don’t bother. She already came clean about her indiscretion. If that’s what you want to call it. I call it cheating, debauchery, vile adulterer, disgusting, selfish… Need I go on?” Each word generated more and more loathing, spittle sprinkling the air.

“I understand—”

He jabbed his finger toward me, narrowing his eyes. “No, you don’t.”

“Okay.”

“Unless you were married to a narcissist.”

“Look, Tom, I’m sorry you’re going through this, but it’s not my place to get involved with your and Jade’s marriage.”

“Then what do you want to talk about? Because I have no desire to talk about that SOB Ivan.”

My eyes grew wide, and I bit my lower lip. “You know he’s dead, right? Murdered.”

He gave a half-hearted shrug. “Yeah, I heard. Can’t say as I’m upset about it.”

I caught my lower lip between my teeth again as I watched him for a moment. Finally, I said, “Did you see him that night? The night of his murder.”

He snorted. “Look, it’s no secret I hated the guy, but I’m no killer.”

“Do you have an alibi for that night?” I asked. So much for keeping it light, Andie Rose.

He leaned toward me, and I forced myself to stand taller and square my shoulders. He may have freaked me out a wee bit, but I wasn’t about to let him know that.

“Why are you asking? You’re an innkeeper, not the police. I don’t have to tell you anything.” The muscle in his jaw twitched again.

“I’m trying to clear Jade. Given the, uh,” I cleared my throat and took a step back, “the circumstances, it won’t look good for her.” Or for you, the betrayed husband.

“I’m trying hard to care about that right now.” I waited for him to say something more helpful. He exhaled, his posture sagged the tiniest bit, and he shook his head slowly. “No, I don’t have an alibi. My daughter was staying at a friend’s, and my wife was off seeing her lover, so she wasn’t with me.” His words dripped bitterness. He held his hand up. “And before you go assuming anything, Jade is a cheater, but she’s not a killer.”

“It’ll sure be easier to prove that if we had concrete evidence. All we have is that Jade was with him around the time of the murder in the same room I found his body. And that they were arguing. That reeks of opportunity and motive.” Anger flashed in his eyes, so I quickly continued. “Tom, I know as well as you do, she didn’t do it. But we need to prove it to the police. They aren’t about to take us at our word.”

He took a deep breath, exhaling slowly as he leaned against the bookshelf. He tipped his head back, closed his eyes, and pinched the bridge of his nose. “I could just kill her for the spot she’s gotten us into right now—marital as well as freedom from accusations.” He sneered. “Now there’s two words you don’t normally hear in the same sentence—marriage and freedom.”

I put my finger to my lips and glanced around us for anyone within hearing range. “Shh. You might not want to say that at a time like this. About killing your wife.”

“Oh, good Lord,” he guffawed. “It’s just a manner of speech. But honestly, if I go down for one murder I didn’t commit, what’s one more? Given the circumstances, I don’t think a jury would fault me for it.”

Tom pushed himself away from the bookshelf and left without another word. I stood frozen in place, jaw hanging open in bewilderment. Seemed I’d been doing a lot of that for the last forty-eight hours.

When I finally gathered my wits about me, I checked into one more thing as long as I was here.

I waltzed up to the librarian behind the service desk and waited for her to acknowledge me three feet in front of her. Finally, she glanced up and peered at me over the rims of her stereotypical librarian cats-eye glasses attached by a chain around her neck. “Yes?”

“Sorry, I don’t want to interrupt, but I was curious if you could help me find a book.”

“Of course, dear,” she said, slipping her glasses off with her thumb and forefinger and placing one of the temple tips of the earpiece between her teeth. “Which book would that be?”

“The Woman in Black by Susan Hill,” I said.

She frowned, took the temple tip from her mouth, the corners of her lips curving downward. “Hmm. Now, why does that sound familiar?” She began keying in something on the computer to her right and said, “Oh, dear, that’s why. Someone else was in here a day or two ago looking for it, but it had disappeared.” She sighed, shook her head, and then nodded toward one of the half-dome safety mirrors. “That’s why we have those, don’tcha know. But security measures can’t catch them all.”

Isn’t that the truth.