18

Alas, how shall this bloody deed be answer’d?

ACT 4, SCENE 1

Marti Fairing couldn’t say she loved murder investigations; the reasons that drove that part of her work were just too horrible to contemplate. But she couldn’t help loving the connection she felt with everybody at the station when they were actively working a case. She glanced over at Mac’s closed door. He was probably taking a nap in there. Okay, so the connection with almost everybody. She wondered why they hadn’t roped in Fenton, the Secret Service fellow, as some sort of consultant. Seemed to her he might have been a good resource. But Mac was awfully touchy about his territory. Mac made a lousy alpha dog. She wasn’t sure about town politics or the details of who was related to whom, but she was fairly sure the only reason he’d gotten appointed chief was that he was related to a couple of town big shots.

Murphy, at the desk beside hers, was looking something up on the Internet. Harper was studying the huge wall map of Hamelin, tracing an imaginary line from here to there and back again. Mary Beth, the relatively new night dispatcher, was hunched over a big book, her headset lending her the air of a studious Dumbo. Outside, the dark night seemed to beat against the station windows. Fairing knew it was just the wind, and she spared a moment to pity the people in tents on the far side of the meadow; it sounded like it would create havoc once it made its way inside.

“We need a name for our murderer.” Harper’s voice seemed to float over the desks.

“Duh,” said Murphy. “Once we have a name we arrest the guy, right?”

“No,” Harper said. “I mean we need something we can call this guy instead of saying ‘the murderer’ each time we refer to him.”

“Or her,” Fairing pointed out.

“Gotta be fair to the opposite sex,” Murphy said.

Fairing threw a pencil at him. “Opposite to what? Maybe you’re the opposite one.”

Murphy threw the pencil back at her, and she caught it with a deft movement. “How about Piper?” he suggested. “Name for the murderer.”

“No,” Fairing said. “Piping isn’t easy. Somebody who worked hard to learn to play the pipes would never risk damaging a set that way.” She thought a moment. “How about Cord?”

Harper made a little humming sound. “I like it.”

“Sounds good to me,” Murphy agreed. “Kills with cords, hits hard enough to break a spinal cord.”

Ewww. Marti hadn’t thought of that angle.

Cord it was.

Fairing pushed aside the yellow legal pad she’d been scribbling notes on and started to stand, but something poked her in the leg. The little package from Peggy Winn.

The blue wrapping paper matched her uniform. The silver ribbon matched her badge. She smiled to herself and untied the ribbon. She smoothed out the paper and laid the necklace, a rather pretty concoction of big silver-toned beads and faded white plastic leaves, across it. She didn’t have a thing in the world to wear it with, except that little black dress she never had reason to put on.

“What’s that?” Murphy jostled her elbow. “You been shoplifting again?”

“Cretin,” she said with a totally fake frown.

“Oh, forgive me. I forgot. You don’t shoplift. All you do is chase innocent Secret Service agents.”

Fairing grinned.

“You two planning on getting any work done?”

“Nope,” said Murphy. “Now that we have a name for our perp, we plan to goof around all night.”

“Come look at this.”

Fairing led the way to the map. “What have you found?”

“Bowman was last seen alive around two, here.” He pointed. “After that, to the best of our knowledge, he stayed in his room.”

“Doing what?” Fairing knew there was no answer to that, but she sure wished she knew. It might have had something to do with why he was murdered.

“Right.” Harper had obviously read her mind. “If we knew the answer to that, we might be a lot further along.” He moved his pointing finger to the meadow. “How long would it take . . . Cord . . . to get from the hotel to the stage?”

Fairing couldn’t figure out where he was headed. Murphy saw the reasoning first. “Shay Burns? You want her as the suspect?”

“Shay? Why Shay?” Marti couldn’t see a connection.

“That’s right,” said Murphy. “You were busy wasting time in the attic with Turner. Shay—who I might remind you has never once been late to her opening ceremony, except the year her sister died, when she missed it altogether—came running onto the field just moments before the president arrived. The agents wouldn’t let her on the stage until the action was all over with.”

“Which direction did she come from?”

Harper laid a finger on the map.

The flowered arch. At the end of Main. Where the hotel stood only a few blocks up the street.

Fairing couldn’t see Shay as Cord, though. First of all, she didn’t move like somebody who’d studied martial arts long enough to know how to give a killing—or at least a paralyzing—blow to the back of someone’s neck. She voiced her concern, and Murphy snorted.

“Secondly,” she said, “doesn’t Shay live farther up Main?”

Harper nodded. “Third house above the hardware store.”

How would he know that? Fairing stared at him.

“Moira told me.”

Moira ought to know. She knew everything about everybody in town. Except who had a reason to kill Big Willie Bowman. “So, why couldn’t she have been coming from her house?”

“You on her side?”

“I’m on the side of reason, Murph.” Even as she said it, she knew it sounded corny.

Murphy saluted. “Truth, justice, and the American way?”

“You got it.” She stood her ground. She was on the side of justice. Justice represented by the statue of the blindfolded woman with the scales. Not because justice was blind, but because justice should be dispensed equally for everyone. And she couldn’t think of a single reason why they should concentrate solely on Shay Burns.

“You’re right.” Harper lifted his finger from where it hovered over what Fairing assumed was the location of Shay’s house. “And we don’t have a motive for her.”

Murphy made that disgusting sound again. “We don’t have a motive for anybody. Why kill Santa Claus?”

Fairing fiddled with her pencil. Murphy and Harper both had a point. They needed a motive.

“There is one thing,” Harper said, and Fairing could feel her ears perk up. Something about his tone of voice. “We have a witness, Gilda Buchanan, assistant manager at the ScotShop, who heard Ms. Burns accuse William Bowman of letting her sister die.”

Murphy looked confused. “Whose sister?”

“Burns said, ‘You let my sister die.’ That appears to be why she ordered him to get out of town.”

“Bingo,” said Murphy. “Motive.”

“Did you ask Ms. Burns about it, sir?”

“Not yet, Fairing. I saw Ms. Buchanan in the street just this evening. She approached me and told me about the argument she’d overheard.”

Murphy asked, “So, why aren’t we talking to Ms. Burns about this?”

“She’s not home and not answering her phone.”

Fairing still couldn’t see Shay as Cord. “What happened to the dog?”

Harper’s hand, roving over the map again, paused. “Peggy Winn took her home.” He got a funny look on his face that Fairing couldn’t interpret. “I’ll be right back,” he said, and left the station.

*   *   *

I placed one of the chairs against the side wall to make room for Drew’s wheelchair and settled at the kitchen table across from him. Tessa crawled under the table. Dirk leaned against the counter beside the sink. Silla curled into a ball at my feet. Shorty was nowhere to be seen. I missed her usual greeting, but couldn’t blame her, what with a strange dog in the house. Was this even going to work out? Nonsense, I told myself. Big Willie probably had a will directing who would get Silla if . . . if anything happened. I reached for a tissue.

Dirk stepped forward, but I waved my hand. “I’m okay.”

“No, you’re not. Okay, sis, give. Tell me what’s wrong.”

I couldn’t talk coherently for a minute or two. By the time I had myself under control, Karaline was at the door. Drew wheeled out of the kitchen to let her in. It took the two of them a few minutes to get back to me. I spent the time stroking Silla’s head. She didn’t even move.

Karaline came in, hugged me, and dished up meat loaf, while I sat there like a lump.

The first bit tasted like cardboard, but I gradually thawed out a bit as Karaline and Drew prompted me with gentle questions. Dirk, naturally, added his comments, which Karaline could hear but Drew couldn’t. “Harper told me not to talk about it,” I said, “but I can’t just hold it all inside.”

After I told them everything I could remember, we stared at one another for a few minutes. “It sure would be good,” Karaline said, “if we could solve the case, sort of like we did the other ones. Well”—she looked at me—“like you solved them.”

“I want part of the action this time,” Drew said.

“Fine with me. Any ideas where to start?” But none of us had any ideas at all. Any worth following up on, that is.

“I liked Big Willie so much,” Karaline said. “He reminds me—reminded me—of my uncle Arnold. He’s in his eighties, but still farms. He always has a dog or two following at his footsteps. Always has a big genuine smile for everybody.” She glanced at Drew. “You’ll love him when we—” She clamped her mouth shut.

I looked from her to my brother and back again. “When you what?” Drew shook his head, but he looked guilty and, somehow, pleased at the same time. “What’s going on?”

They stared at each other and I saw some sort of silent signal pass between them, but I couldn’t for the life of me figure out what they were saying. I glanced at Dirk and he raised both hands, palm up in that don’t ask me gesture.

“Cat’s out of the bag,” Drew said.

“Well, now it certainly is.” Karaline smiled at him. She reached out and took his hand, then splayed her other hand, her left hand, flat on the table so I could see the sparkly diamond on her fourth finger.

I jumped to my feet, narrowly avoiding a collision with Silla, and grabbed both of them in the biggest bear hug I could manage.

“I am most pleased for ye, Mistress Karaline. I have great respect for your intended.”

“Thank you. We’re planning a trip next month, so Drew can meet my family.” She looked from me to Dirk. “The rest of my family.” She smiled.

I burst into tears.

“I thought you’d be happy for us,” Drew said. “I’m sorry we didn’t tell you sooner.”

“She is happy,” Karaline explained. “It’s just that, coming so fast on Big Willie’s murder, this feels like it’s too much to take in.” She turned to me. “Is that right, my friend?”

I couldn’t do anything except nod. I felt like a war was waging inside me. I felt so angry over Big Willie’s murder—with his own bagpipe cords. How could anybody have been so cruel? And to lock little Silla in there with the body of her master, somebody she loved with all her little doggie heart? I couldn’t think of a punishment harsh enough for somebody who would do that. And now here I had to shift gears. The love I’d seen developing for a long time between Drew and Karaline, the love I felt for both of them separately and now, soon to be, as a unit—how could I ever express my happiness for them?

I thought of Justice, blindfolded and stately, holding her scales in an outstretched arm.

Hate balanced by love.

Anger balanced by joy.

Which way would the scales tilt?

The doorbell rang.

*   *   *

Harper wasn’t surprised when Karaline answered the door. After all, her car was in the driveway. Next to Peggy’s brother’s van. “It looks like there’s a party going on,” he said. “Do you mind if I come in for a couple of minutes?”

Karaline reached for his arm and drew him in. “It’s not a party, as I’m sure you’ve already figured out.”

But Harper could sense something—something not related to murder and despair, something buoyant—underneath her words. “I have some things to get out of my car first.”

“Do you need help?”

He shook his head. “Be right back.”

Karaline waited for him to load up with dog bed, red retractable leash, water bowl, and food.

“I had to sign my life away to remove these from the crime scene,” he told her.

“Thanks,” she said. “Peggy’s going to be so grateful.” She paused. “It may take her a while to thank you, though.”

“I understand.” He followed Karaline to the kitchen.

Peggy sat with a supersized box of tissues next to her plate. She looked up—her eyes were red and swollen—but she said nothing as Harper placed his armload of stuff on the counter. “Where do you want this?” He held out the dog bed. Drew took it from him and set it down beside Peggy’s feet. Harper shifted position a bit so he could see Silla’s reaction.

She perked her ears, looked around, and dropped her head. Peggy reached down and lifted the little dog, setting her gently inside the bed. Silla didn’t even bother to do the doggie-turn-around-three-times thing. Harper thought they always did that. But all she did was sink down and rest her head over her curled-up feet. The perky eyebrows that normally stuck up, giving most Scotties an aura of faint surprise, seemed droopy somehow.

“You want something to eat?” Karaline didn’t even wait for an answer. She pushed him into a chair, the one next to Peggy, whipped out a plate, and piled it with food. “Here. You need your strength for what’s ahead of you.”

“Thanks.” Before he took a bite, he looked at Peggy. “You told them?”

She didn’t meet his eyes. “I know you told me not to talk to anybody about it, but this is my twin.”

“I know. You and he tell each other everything.”

“Not quite everything.” She looked at her brother, and Harper thought the stare was a bit pointed. What was going on?

“And what about me,” Karaline said, taking her place beside Drew. “Don’t I count?”

“Well, of course I’d tell you. Harper knows that.”

The funny thing was, he did know that. He’d known a few hours ago that she was going to tell Karaline everything. And Drew as well, only Harper had thought he was out of town.

The meat loaf was delicious; everything Karaline ever cooked was delicious. But the good food wasn’t enough to stop him from being a cop. “I assume you haven’t solved the case yet,” he said. “Otherwise you would have called me, right?”

He hadn’t meant to be funny, and he was pretty sure he hadn’t been, but for some reason, all three of them burst out laughing. Even Peggy. It didn’t last long, but it lit her face. Harper had to restrain himself from reaching out to her. Hadn’t she made it clear enough she wasn’t interested?

*   *   *

Silla did not want to leave her bed when this new person tried to coax her out of it. Her bed still smelled like her person. She could not find his smell anywhere else except, just a little, on the floor by the soft cave in that other place. Where the other dog licked her foot.

When the new person picked up the bed, with Silla still in it, Silla simply buried her head deeper into the soft pillowy side and waited to see what would happen. Waited to see if her person would come back.

She barely registered the new room, the gray cat who hissed at her and jumped up on the big person-bed. None of it mattered. Silla would wait as long as she needed to for her person. When he came back for her, she would be ready.