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IT TOOK JUST about every ounce of strength Reebok had—and all his martial arts training as well—to restrain Tricia Moody as she twisted and struggled, and he had to close his ears to the language she used. Now that the power was back on, he’d be able to confine her at the station, but had no idea how he’d get her up the hill. Even with the rising temperatures and all the rain, there still was a heavy coating of ice on the sidewalks and the streets and—well—on everything.
The Chief sidled around her, narrowly avoiding the kick she aimed at him. He read her the Miranda rights before saying, "We’re taking you to the station. You can cooperate, in which case we’ll take off these handcuffs so you can put on your parka. If you won’t agree to behave yourself, or if you fight us once the cuffs are off, we’ll cuff you again, drape the coat around your shoulders, and hope you stay warm enough walking the two blocks. It’s getting milder out, so you probably won’t freeze."
Reebok had never heard the Chief sound so stern.
"You can’t prove a thing."
The Chief looked at Reebok. "Garner, would you like to tell her some of what we have?"
"Sure, Chief." He ignored the crowd of people gathering around him. Fortunately they were staying well back, at least four or five feet away from Tricia Moody. "We have the skeleton of Charlotte Ellis, found in the woods halfway between your college town and Atlanta."
Beside me, Sadie reached out and gripped my hand.
"We have witness statements confirming that you and she left college together, heading to her house in Atlanta. The right humerus of the skeleton shows an old break that matches one Charlotte Ellis was known to have. We have a sizable strand of black-dyed blond hair wound around one of the victim’s finger bones, and it’s been sent in for DNA testing. We have the fact that several people saw the patch where you were missing a chunk of hair when you came to town three years ago. We have the detail that Charlie Ellis was left-handed and you’re right-handed." He paused and took a breath, wondering if he should mention the yearbook photo. Or the fact that the bones detective had found a guy at a diner who remembered Charlie Ellis. He’d identified her from her yearbook picture. Said her car had broken down and she’d never shown up at the used car lot. He’d identified Tricia as well, from the same yearbook. "Would you like me to keep going?"
"No," Charlie—Tricia—snarled. "I’d like you to shut up."
"I wasn’t asking you."
"That’s okay, Garner," the Chief said. "I think she has the idea now."
"I want a lawyer."
"We should be able to get one here now that the ice is melting. In the meantime, the town jail is where you’re headed."
With her hands cuffed in front of her, she lashed out so suddenly she almost pulled Reebok off his feet. She collided with Sadie, who fortunately fell back against me and so kept her feet under her. As Reebok and Bob both grabbed Tricia, she yelled, "I should have run you over when I had a chance. It worked with that professor, it would have worked with you—you—you crayon!"
Crayon? I wasn’t the only one who just blinked at her. What in tarnation was she talking about?
Clara’s strident voice cut through the ensuing silence. "What I’d like to know is what you’re going to do about the blackmail. She’s been getting a boatload of money from Hubbard each month for the past three years."
Reebok looked at the Chief, who seemed to be waiting for him to answer. He straightened his shoulders, as much as he could while he was hanging onto this Patricia Moody. "Once the ice melts, we’d like you to come to the station, Mrs. Martin. You can make an official statement and we’ll deal with it." He was careful not to look back at the Chief, as much as he wanted to see whether or not he’d handled it right.
"You’d better," Clara Martin told the Chief.
"It’s Garner’s case," the Chief said. "Be sure you talk to him when you stop by."
There was no way Reebok could have straightened up any more.
But he tried.
~ ~ ~
WE ALL WATCHED OUT the front windows as Bob and Reebok ushered Patricia Moody out the front door. We’d had a quick conference, all of us, and decided that it was too late for everyone to go home this afternoon. The rain would melt a little more of the ice—probably a lot more at the rate it was going—so people would be safer heading back out tomorrow. I supposed I could stand one more night of this togetherness.
Before they left, Bob had pulled me aside and told me to put five or six big strips of masking tape across the door to Charlie’s—Tricia’s— room. "I doubt anyone will go in there, but it’s better to be sure."
Doc and Dave went along with Bob, just for insurance, I guessed. With her hands cuffed once again and her coat just balanced on her shoulders, I didn’t think she’d be trying to run away.
As if to make a liar out of me, she lunged to one side, knocking Reebok off his feet. The ice proved too treacherous, though, and her feet skidded out from under her. I could see Doc asking Reebok if anything was broken—at least that’s what I assumed he was asking. Reebok shook his head. Bob hauled Tricia to her feet, put her coat back around her and held onto her shoulder.
He is a kind man.
If it had been up to me, I probably would have left her coat lying on the ground. Let her freeze her tutu off walking to the station. She’d be less likely to strike out again.
"Where on earth does she think she can run to?" Melissa sounded as incredulous as I felt.
"I don’t think she’s thinking," I said. "Just reacting. She must feel scared." Served her right.
"Serves her right," Rebecca Jo said. She wasn’t reading my mind. I could see satisfaction on everybody’s face. Almost everybody’s.
We kept watching them inch along on the icy walk. I sure hoped nobody fell and broke anything. Unless it was Tricia Moody. A murderer and a blackmailer. I was sure it had been Clara’s idea to pay Tricia for all that time, since Hubbard always seemed to do everything she ordered. How on earth, though, could she possibly think that being head of the garden club and all those committees made paying blackmail worthwhile?
I have to admit, I still thought it would be satisfying if Bob arrested Clara for murdering Hubbard. Maybe he was just waiting until Tricia was booked.
It would have made more sense for Clara to kill Tricia, though. Not Hubbard.
What are you thinking about? You do not make sense.
I could just imagine Clara in prison—lining up all the other inmates and getting them to follow her lead. Then again, her attitude might get her in more trouble there than anywhere else.
I shivered. As much as I disliked Clara, as much as I knew she disliked me, as much as I thought the town would breathe easier without Clara and Hubbard strangling any innovation, I still didn’t want to think of what might happen to her if she ended up in prison.
Clara—and Hubbard—had opposed the library to begin with. They’d been against hiring me. They’d fought it when Margaret donated the computerized check-out system. Hubbard wanted to cut down all the old-growth trees in town. Clara had tried to get rid of Maggie Pontiac’s goats. The list went on and on. We were better off without them. Thank goodness Ida was ready to take over.
Tom picked up his parka, and I jerked back into current time. "I need to run over to the restaurant," he said, "but I’ll be back as soon as I can."
"Why?"
I wasn’t the only one who asked.
"I have to provide food for the prisoner. Town contract."
"Won’t everything be frozen or spoiled?"
Tom studied Rebecca Jo for a moment. "Good question. I hope not."
"Why don’t you rustle up something here?" Glaze gestured vaguely around. "We would have had to feed Reebok and ... and her tonight anyway. And breakfast tomorrow. Just take them what they would have eaten anyway."
He draped his parka back on the coat rack. "I like the way you think, Wife."
"You’d better," Glaze said. "You’ve got a lot of years ahead of you to put up with the way I think, Husband."
"Fine with me." He grinned, kissed her lightly, and headed for the kitchen. "Don’t worry about cooking tonight, ladies," he called back over his shoulder. "Chef Tom is back in business."
I hoped we still had enough food left. Of course, Tom could work miracles with whatever was available.
Ida interrupted my train of thought. "I don’t know about you, but I could sure use a little bit more attic time."
"No supper?" Ralph gave a hangdog look, but his wife just rolled her eyes at him.
"You’ll get fed eventually." She headed for the stairs. "After all, Tom’s in charge now."
"There’s a bag of pretzels in there," Nick said, waving in the general direction of the kitchen.
"And coffee on the wood stove," Henry said.
"We can all watch Tom work," Father John suggested.
"I heard that!" Tom’s bellow issued forth. "You come in here, I’ll put you to work!"
"Maybe there’s some cookies squirreled over by the wood stove," Henry said.
"I think," Sadie said, "we need to leave these males to their own problems."
Now that we’d settled all that, I joined the other women headed back toward the attic, but Anita pulled me aside once we’d reached the second floor. She looked a bit embarrassed, and I wondered what was going on.
She waited for the others to head up the attic stairs, then peered over the bannister, apparently looking to be sure the men were all out of earshot.
"I don’t know what sort of room you have here, for sleeping I mean."
"Don’t worry about that, Anita. I can put you and Nick in the ..."
Before I could finish my sentence, she said, "That’s the problem. Nick and I can’t sleep in the same room."
Did he snore I wondered? I did a quick mental survey of what space I had left. Reebok would be at the station, guarding Tricia Moody. This was going to work out after all. "You can sleep in the single room beside"—I stopped myself before I said Tricia’s name—"I have two single rooms upstairs. You and Clara can use those. Then there’re the couches by the wood stove," I said. "Nick can use one of them, although they’re both as short as those beds."
"He ... he’d complain too much," Anita said. "I’ll sleep on the couch. Give him the room."
I could tell something was going on, but I had no idea what it was, until I remembered Korsi’s paw on top of Nick’s foot. I still didn’t know what was behind it all, but then again, it probably wasn’t any of my business.
"Sure," I said. "I’ll get out a fresh blanket and pillowcase for you. If you’re sure you don’t mind sleeping on one couch while Matthew has the other one."
Where was I going to put the bird?
Preener likes being near the warm place.
While I was worrying about that, I detoured to tape up Charlie’s—Tricia’s—door. Anita helped me. Didn’t say anything about it, just held the ends of the tape where I told her to.