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I waited a minute for Sam to come down and unlock the door, and then I followed her back up to her apartment. She sat on the couch while I paced back and forth in her living room.
“Where have you been? I called you like a thousand times.”
“I took a nap. Look, I’m sorry, I said it would be a couple hours, but I was afraid I wouldn’t be able to sleep, so I took a pill. Afterward, I dropped off like the dead.”
“Poor choice of words. The florist is dead. I found him.”
Sam looked stunned. “Hanson? Dead? What do you mean? I don’t understand.”
“I found him in the flower shop, in the fridge with the flowers.”
“That’s horrible!” Sam stood and came over to hug me. I didn’t want to accept it at first, but I eventually let her put her arms around me. I admit, it felt comforting.
“Are you okay?” Sam took me by the hand and led me to the couch. We both sat.
“Yes. No. I don’t know,” I said.
“What were you doing at the flower shop in the first place?” Sam asked.
“That’s why I’ve been trying to get a hold of you. Hanson called me and told me he had an idea who killed Sherman, and I was supposed to meet him at the shop at two. I was going to get you to meet him with me, but you didn’t answer the doorbell or the phone, so I headed over there by myself. The back door was open, so I entered the shop, and when I opened the fridge, there he was on the floor.”
“Oh, my. What happened?”
“Well, I called the police, and they came over and questioned me and took the body away.”
“I don’t believe it. Do you know how he died?” Sam asked.
I shook my head. “No. I only saw his legs, and that was enough for me.”
“What about the evidence of who killed Sherman? Did you find anything there about that? Anything that would clear me?”
I shook my head again. Evidence? Had I said anything about Hanson having evidence? I couldn’t think straight. The experience had scrambled my brain.
Sam leaned back in her seat and rubbed her eyes. “So now what do we do?”
I didn’t really know. I felt like I was past the point of getting in over my head, and what I wanted to do most was get on the bus and head off to California for our next gig. But unfortunately, I had given Sam my word to help her out, and I hardly ever went back on my word.
“Your guess is as good as mine. I was certain someone from the committee did Sherman in, and I have to admit, when Hanson called and said he had the answer, my heart flipped with excitement. I’m so ready to put all this behind us. We’ve cleared the McMurtrys and Reba. Obviously, Hanson didn’t do it unless there was a second killer out there somewhere. You didn’t do it, did you? If you did, I’ve solved the mystery,” I said.
I looked over at Sam, and finally, a smile appeared on her face. “No. I didn’t do it. Did you?”
“I did not. So we can cross our names off the list. Bozeman didn’t do it. I can vouch for him. Who does that leave? Dean Williams? Pastor Tom? Mayor Mary? Someone I never even considered? There were, what, a couple hundred people there last night? Any of them might have stabbed Sherman. And there wouldn’t have to be a real motive. Maybe Sherman skipped someone in line, or stole a parking space. We live in nutty times, and people kill for nutty reasons.”
“Yeah, but we don’t have that kind of oddness around these parts. This is a pretty quiet little city,” Sam said.
“I’ve been told that by the chief and the mayor.”
We stayed silent for a few moments, each of us gathering our own thoughts.
“What about Harold Johns?” Sam asked.
“Hanson’s brother?” I asked.
“Yes. I heard he was upset when the resort was first proposed. Said it would affect business at the hotel. And rumor has it he’s already upside down on the property, so any change in business would end him.”
I mulled it over for a moment. “Sure, that’s a plausible motive, but Hanson told me last night that Harold is out of town, helping his folks. Is that true? When’s the last time anyone talked to him?”
Sam let loose a long exhale. “That’s right. He used to come into the bakery at least twice a week, but I haven’t seen him in at least a couple of months. And I imagine they will confirm his story the second the police call Hanson’s next of kin to report his death.”
“True,” I said.
“What about a hitman? Did someone hire some muscle to take care of Sherman, and then Hanson, to tie up loose ends?” Sam asked.
“If this were a large city, I’d say it was at least possible, but here, in Quincey, New Mexico? I doubt it. I’m sure people would notice a stranger in town. Heck, just yesterday I was a stranger in town, and you can’t imagine all the looks I got from people when I was walking around before you found me. I got stares at the restaurant last night, and this morning. Small town folks seem to have a radar that alerts on people who aren’t from here. Besides, did you see anyone at the event last night that you didn’t recognize?”
Sam responded almost right away. “Well, no.”
“Exactly. If a hired gun had come in and stabbed Sherman, I’m one hundred percent sure that someone would have remembered the person and reported it.”
Sam nodded. “You’re right. They would’ve stood out like a purple duck. Do you really think Pastor Tom might be in on it?”
I looked at her, then at my shoes. “You got me. I get he’s a man of the cloth and all, but when I was talking to him last night, he seemed evasive about his relationship with Sherman. He gave me the impression that Sherman had donated a lot of money to the church. I can’t figure out why he would, though.”
“Maybe he was just doing a good deed? Like with improving the fire station?”
I shook my head and frowned. “No, I don’t think so. If you build a new fire station, that benefits you if there’s a fire. How does giving a chunk of cash to the church help Sherman? From what I’ve gathered, he’s not the type of guy to offer something just because of the goodness in his heart.”
“True. You want to go back to the church and talk to the pastor?”
“Why don’t we wait until tomorrow for that visit? I would imagine Sunday is his busy day.”
Sam laughed. “Yes. Of course, it is. I’d forgotten it’s only Sunday. What makes you think the mayor’s involved?”
I glanced over at Sam. “She came over for a visit this morning.”
“No! What did she want?”
“The long and short of it was she invited me to hit the road at my earliest convenience,” I said.
“But doesn’t Chief Jennings want you to stick around?” Sam asked.
“He does. She gave me her advice before I found poor Hanson. Anyway, I don’t think she stabbed Sherman herself, but I have a suspicion she’s indirectly involved somehow.”
“Why?”
“Oh, just a feeling, mostly. I also found it odd that business owners around town have brought their resort concerns to her attention, and what has she done about them all?”
“Well, nothing that I’m aware of. In short, she told us all about a month ago to bugger off about the resort completely.”
“And that didn’t strike you as odd?” I asked.
“Now that you bring it up, it does. Why would she so willingly side with an outsider to the detriment of the townies?”
“Exactly. So, either she’s involved in something shady, and she had to get rid of Sherman. Or she’s involved in something shady and was in league with Sherman. Either way.”
“Or she might be completely innocent.”
“Sure, Sam, perhaps she is. But I’d bet my favorite pair of boots that there’s something going on there. And that leads me right back to Dean.”
I looked over at Sam, who caught my gaze, then jumped up from the couch and headed for the kitchen. “You want anything to drink? I’m getting a root beer.”
“Sounds good to me.” I listened to the fridge open and close, followed by the sounds of Sam retrieving glasses from the cabinet. I picked up the sound of the pop top snap, and the familiar glug-glug sound of root beer falling into a glass. A few seconds later, she was back.
“Sorry, I don’t have any ice.” She held out a glass, and I took it. We touched glasses in a mock toast and drank. It was good. I couldn’t remember the last time I had a root beer.
I hesitated, but I had to broach the subject again, and I assumed to Sam it was like a scab being picked at until it bled.
“So, Dean Williams.”
Sam drained half her glass, then set it on the table beside her and looked at me. “I know, I know. You think he’s the most likely suspect, right?”
I nodded.
“Why?”
I set my glass down and counted the points on my fingers. “First, he seems overprotective of you. Second, looking in from the outside, he appears to have anger issues. Third, he had an opportunity. You told me yourself he was right there just after you came out of the bathroom and just before you found the body, right? Fourth, I overheard him on more than one occasion talking about ‘dealing with Sherman’, and who knows what he meant there?” I dropped my hands and picked my glass back up. “Sorry to be blunt. I understand he’s a friend.”
“No. It’s okay. That’s one reason I asked for your help. I’m too close to this. I appreciate your fresh set of eyes on everything around here. Still friends?”
I smiled. “Of course. What’s a little murder between buddies?”
We both laughed, and the tension washed away. I felt better, more relaxed. I didn’t realize that I had built up enough internal pressure to run a V8 engine.
“Hey, what do you say—”
The doorbell interrupted Sam. She crossed over to the window and looked outside. “It’s Shanna. Shanna, come on up, the door’s unlocked.”
Sam moved over to the apartment door, opened it, and soon Shanna stepped through.
I noticed Shanna had been crying. Her eyes were red and puffy and there was a faint black line on the side of her face where she’d tried to wipe away a streak of mascara. Sam noticed it, too.
“What’s wrong? What happened?” Sam asked.
Shanna sniffed and gulped some air. “When I got home, I found this.”
Shanna lifted her arm, and I saw in her right hand a plastic sandwich bag, and within that bag was an index card. She turned it around so we could read it. We both saw the words ‘you’re next’ in big block letters in red ink.
I saw the note, then sat back down. Things were getting unreal. “Tell me everything about finding that,” I said.
Shanna sniffed again. Sam motioned for her to sit on the easy chair and then passed her a box of tissues. Shanna grabbed a tissue, blew her nose, and took a breath. “I was at the gym. I go every Sunday to an afternoon yoga class. When I got home, I noticed this lying on the living room floor. I figured it was a coupon or something because people were always sliding things under my door, but when I turned it over, I saw that. I remembered what happened to Sherman Stier, and I got scared.”
Sam and I looked at each other.
“Did you call the police?” I asked.
“Do you think I should?”
“Without a doubt. There’s more going on here than you know. Here’s what you should do. Go home, call Chief Jennings, and tell them exactly what you found and how you found it.”
“I can’t call from here?”
“You may, but the police would want to see where it happened, so you’d have to go home, anyway.”
“Okay. If you say that’s best.”
Sam gave Shanna a hug. “It probably is best that way. If you need us, we’ll be here.”
Shanna sniffed again. “Should I tell the chief I came here?”
Sam and I looked at each other again, but it was me who spoke first. “If it were me, I wouldn’t bring it up. But, if you’re asked if you went anywhere between the time you found it and the time you called them, tell them. It’s important that you don’t lie. Okay?”
Shanna slowly nodded. “Okay. Thank you.”
Shanna got to her feet and took another tissue from the box.
“I’ll call you later, okay?” Shanna said.
Sam ushered Shanna from the room and walked her down the stairs. I heard voices from the open window, but I didn’t hear what they were saying. A few minutes later, Sam returned.
“Well?” she asked.
I drank some root beer and set down the glass. “Can this day get any more complicated?”
Sam exhaled. “I sure hope not. What do we do now? Do you want to find someone else to talk to, or should we wait and see what happens with Shanna?”
“Well, we said we’d be here, so I guess we should settle in for a bit.”
We didn’t know how long it would take for Shanna to call, so we found things to occupy our time. The first hour we spent talking about old times and gossiping about people we remembered from high school. Of course, I had to provide most of the information since I had a few dozen of them as followers of my social media.
After we ran out of people to talk about, we dove into a few magazines that Sam had lying around the house. Shortly after seven, Sam dug out a deck of cards and we played a rousing round of Go Fish, followed by a couple of games of War. Just as Sam’s cat clock slipped into the eight o’clock hour, we finally heard heavy footsteps ascending the stairs.
A hard knock fell upon the door. “Quincey Police Department. Open up. We have a warrant.”
Sam and I passed confused glances, and she moved to the door and opened it. As she did, two deputies rushed into the room with guns drawn. One deputy motioned for Sam to join me on the couch, while the other did a sweep of the tiny apartment.
“All clear,” the second deputy said as he joined the other one.
Sam didn’t look well, and she started shaking. I put an arm around her and tried to steady her. “What’s this about a warrant?” Sam asked.
Chief Jennings entered the room and stepped forward, offering Sam a sheet of paper. “Samantha Henry, I have a warrant for your arrest for the murders of Sherman Stier and Hanson Johns, and for making terroristic threats to Shanna Prescott. Please stand and put your arms behind your back.”
Sam shook her head back and forth with such force I expected it to pop off and roll across the floor like a bowling ball.
“No. I didn’t do it. I didn’t do any of those things. You need to listen to me!” she screamed.
A deputy reached forward and grabbed Sam’s upper arm. Sam responded by trying to become one with the couch. “No! Stop! I’m innocent!”
The other deputy stepped in, and between the two of them, they got Sam to her feet, spun her around, and slapped handcuffs on her. After that, Chief Jennings stepped over and patted her down for weapons.
“I’ll bet you loved that, you pig!” Sam snarled. “You’ve always wanted to get your hands on me! Let me go! I didn’t do any of those things!” Sam broke and the tears flowed. She looked in my direction and muttered something. I couldn’t tell what it was, and before I asked for clarification, the deputies escorted her from the room.
The chief started looking around the room. I stood and followed him into the kitchen.
“What are you doing?”
“I’m executing a warrant, looking for evidence.”
“I don’t think —”
Chief Jennings spun around. “Look, I’ve had about enough of you. You should leave before I charge you as an accessory to her crimes.”
“There’s no way. You can’t. You don’t have any evidence.”
The chief threw me a sly smile. “Not to worry. I’m sure I could come up with something. Go back to your bus. Relax, have a nice evening, and then tomorrow, leave Quincey. Do us a favor and don’t come back.”
“No. You can’t run me off, and you have nothing on Sam. You should let her go.”
Before the chief could say anything, Deputy Samuels appeared in the kitchen carrying two small evidence bags and handed them to Jennings. “Got them. They look like they match to me.”
“Thanks. Search the other rooms up here.” Chief Jennings turned back to me and held the evidence bags directly in front of my face. “No evidence? See these?”
I tried to focus on what he had, but they were so close to my face I couldn’t make out either item. After I moved my head back, and they came into view. I saw what they were, but I didn’t know the relevancy. “Yeah? So what?”
“So what? She stabbed Sherman Stier with one of her own knives. Has her name on the handle, along with her fingerprints. She killed Hanson Johns with a pie cutter, one that looks just like this.” Chief Jennings showed the bag with the pie cutter in it. “And she wrote the threat against Shanna on a card, exactly like the card like this that Sam writes recipes on. We’ve also found her fingerprints at the scene of each crime.”
It all was hard for me to process. I was about to argue with him about being her alibi, but I realized I couldn’t. Sure, I was with her at breakfast, and several people saw us then. And I was with her later in the afternoon, but that left a sizeable gap of time when I couldn’t get in touch with her. Since the police already had my outgoing phone call log, they knew that. We’d been apart for about six hours. It was certainly enough time to off the flower man and leave a note under a door. Despite that, I believed my friend wasn’t capable of such things.
The chief looked indignant and appeared to be waiting for me to say something. “Well?”
I coughed, then shook my head. “Look, I’m sorry, Chief Jennings, I didn’t mean to come across as so aggressive. I’m just in shock, is all.”
The chief must have taken my word for once because his shoulders slumped, and he slid into a more relaxed posture.
“Do you think I can see her? Please? I just want to make sure she’s okay and that she at least has a lawyer. Would that be okay?”
The chief stared at me long enough for me to wonder if I had not said the words out loud.
“Yeah. Okay. But not tonight. It’s already late, and she needs to go through processing. Tomorrow morning, come down to the jail and I’ll make sure you can talk to her. Come early though, because we don’t have a long-term facility, so we’ll send her to the county jail in the afternoon.”
I nodded. “I understand. Thank you, Chief Jennings.”
It was time to leave.
“Cassidy?”
“Yes, Chief?”
“Don’t do or say anything stupid. You’ve worn out your welcome here.”
Without a word, I left the apartment, walked around the building, and entered the bus. Bozeman was in the kitchen making a snack. “Want a sandwich? Ham and cheese?”
My stomach rumbled. It was a busy day, and I hadn’t eaten since breakfast. “I’d love one, thanks.”
“Hot or cold?”
I smiled. I loved grilled ham and cheese. “Hot. Please.”
Bozeman took a couple of extra slices from the bread, buttered a side of each, and slid them into the pan next to his. Bozeman was a chef of contradiction. He couldn’t make a decent fried egg, but he could make a delicious sandwich. Give him a steak and every time it would turn out like jerky. Hand him a fish, and it would turn out flaky and delicate. I didn’t understand it, but I had learned to work around it. If he was making a food he’d mastered, I’d always accept his offer for the meal. If it was something he couldn’t cook right to save his life, I’d cook either just for myself or for both of us. Between the two of us, we got by fine at mealtimes.
“Where have you been all day? I thought you’d be right back.”
I removed my baseball cap, tossed it on the chair, and ran my fingers through my hair. “You would not believe everything that happened today.”
“Did you clear your friend of the murder?”
“Actually, I got her indicted in a second one. Oh, and accused of making a terroristic threat, whatever that is.”
Bozeman turned around to face me, spatula in hand. “You’re kidding.”
I shook my head and frowned. I wanted to run to my room and cry or hide. But I also wanted the sandwich, so I sat tight. Gibson must have sensed my discomfort as he jumped up into my lap and nuzzled my chin. I giggled. “Hey, little man, your nose is cold and wet.”
A few minutes later, Bozeman slid a plate in front of me and sat down across from me. Gibson moved to the seat next to me and laid his head on my leg while Bozeman and I ate in silence, which I was grateful for. After we finished the meal, I dumped the paper plates into the trash, washed Bozeman’s pan, and rejoined him at the table.
“So, tell me about your day,” he said.
