The interview room looked like basically every interview room on TV. Carnack sat across from me. Behind him was a glass mirror, most likely with someone on the other side. I'd waived my right to an attorney for this interview because I didn't need it. I hadn't killed Pancratz.
"Talk me through last night," Sheriff Ed suggested.
"Okay." I thought about it for a moment. "I remember going to bed with Rex. And then waking up on the floor of that shed in Bladdersly."
"That's all?"
"Yup. That's it. Like I told you before, I honestly don't remember any more than that."
The sheriff rubbed his eyes. "I should let you know that it looks bad, Merry. Very bad. There's a witness who saw you shove Pancratz ahead of you into the shed. He heard screaming and called 911."
"Wait, what? Who was it?" I asked more out of surprise than concern. "I thought you said the caller was anonymous."
"The Bladdersly Police Department withheld some intel from me." The sheriff grimaced. I'm sure it galled him that he had to deal with that when he was taking over the case as a favor. "The witness's name is Buddy Malone."
"Who's Buddy Malone?" Why didn't I know anyone involved? "I don't know anyone by that name. Which means he doesn't know me either."
"Buddy Malone is a security guard for the pawn shop that owns the shed. He has a flawless record—everyone knows and respects him. He gives to charity, is a retired pastor, and has never testified against anyone in all his seventy years in Bladdersly."
"Pastor, elderly, beloved Buddy Malone?" I frowned. "That sounds bad for me."
He nodded. "It really does. Are you sure you can't remember anything else?"
"I wish I could. I swear that I've never heard of Tyson Pancratz before. What would my motive be for something like that?"
"This." Sheriff Ed slid a piece of paper over to me.
It was the transcript of a phone call where I allegedly told someone I was going to kill Tyson Pancratz.
"This isn't proof."
"We have the recording. It sounds a bit like your voice. I'm sorry, Merry, but this isn't looking good."
"It can't be my voice because, before last night, I'd never heard of Tyson Pancratz. Someone is poofing me."
"You mean spoofing."
"No, I mean poofing. It's a CIA word meaning someone makes a case against you out of thin air."
"This is real, Merry." Carnack sighed. "I never do this, but I think you really need a lawyer."
I slumped in my chair. This really was bad. Not only did I not remember killing someone I'd never met in a place I'd never been before, but I also seemed to have made a phone call I didn't remember making.
"Okay. I can call Jane Monaghan," I said, thinking about an excellent lawyer who'd helped me out before. "Any news on how he died?"
Ed sat back in his chair. "You're our main suspect. We don't tell our main suspect how the victim was murdered, in case they trip up and tell us."
"Yeah." I rolled my eyes. "But that's just standard operating procedure. I mean, come on. It's me."
There was a moment of silence that I didn't like.
"If it helps, I did talk to Dr. Body this morning, and she told me what happened. But we don't have the murder weapon."
For a moment I wanted to blurt out Aha! He was stabbed in the heart! I knew it! But I thought about Kelly and plausible deniability and decided to play it ignorant. "You really aren't going to tell me, are you?"
"I've helped you out enough as it is." He looked at his watch. "But the good news is that Bryce Vanderzee isn't back in town, and the judge has granted your bail. Rex is on his way to pay it. At least you'll get a bit of freedom before I have to turn this over to the Bladdersly PD."
I sighed. Heavily. "Hopefully it's enough time to solve this before things get out of hand."
"I really shouldn't be saying this, but be very careful. And get that lawyer. I mean it."
Rex bailed me out twenty minutes later, and I was home in less than five. After carryout of my favorite burgers from Oleo's, my favorite spot in town, I called Jane Monaghan.
"Merry." The petite blonde's voice was warm. "So good to hear from you again! Hopefully under better circumstances."
"Not really," I sighed. "I need your help, Jane. This time it's for me."
Jane agreed to stop by the next day. She would be in court all afternoon. As I hung up, I leaned back into the couch. Rex wasn't in the room, probably doing the dishes or out with our Scottish deerhound, Leonard. I'd just closed my eyes when the doorbell rang. After calling for Rex a few times, I decided to answer it myself.
It was the druidic Cult of NicoDerm. My cult. Well, I was a member involuntarily on my part. Kinda.
"Guys." I held the door open. "What are you doing here?"
The four teens slouched on my doorstep, clad in long, expensive black robes—a far cry from the old ratty bathrobes they used to wear.
"We went to bail you out," Heather said glumly. "But you weren't there."
The others nodded.
Awww, that was sweet. "You didn't have to do that. But it's very nice of you."
"See?" Mike bent down to nudge the diminutive Stewie in the ribs. "I knew Bird Goddess would like that!"
"Save your money for a comic con," I added. "Or one of those druidy things."
Stewie turned as red as his hair. "We're rich now! We can afford to do stuff."
"Yeah," Kayla said. "We sold the rights to Beetle Dork. It's gonna be a movie."
"You're joking." This was not good news. Beetle Dork was an outrageously fictitious account of a real-life account about me.
Stewie sniffed. "We own the rights. We can do whatever we want with them."
The last thing I needed was a movie based on the lie that I was a bumbling spy. But for now, I could only handle one crisis at a time.
"So we've got a hearse now and everything." Heather pointed to the street.
A black hearse with Cult of Nicoderm painted on the side was parked crookedly by the curb.
"Does that say Stewie is a Stewbutt?" I squinted at the writing on the side.
Stewie turned green. "Heather! You were supposed to take that off!"
"It's only chalk," Mike said as he walked over and used the sleeve of his robe to rub it off.
"We painted the Druidmobile in chalkboard paint," Kayla explained.
"Yeah." Heather cracked her gum. "Some of the other kids have been teasing us. So we let them write whatever they want in chalk."
"It's smart…" Kayla's voice trailed away as we noticed that the letters weren't coming off.
Mike stared at it. "I guess it's not chalk. Might be real paint."
"Again?" Stewie erupted. "I am the dread demigod Odious!" He raised his arms and wiggled his fingers in a way that was supposed to be menacing, but just looked jazzy, then lowered them, deflated. "Guys! We have to make that stop!"
"It's your sister, dude." Heather rolled her eyes. "She's the worst."
"Yeah!" Kayla said.
"Totally mean," Heather added.
I stared at the petite, pudgy redhead. "Your sister painted your car?"
"And she spelled everything correctly. Not bad for a kindergartner," Mike said.
I shook my head to clear it. "It's really nice of you to check up on me. Thanks for stopping by."
"We'll sacrifice a chicken to you tonight," Stewie said.
"Well, not a real chicken," Heather added. "'Cuz that would be totally gross."
Stewie shook with rage. "Stop telling people we don't sacrifice real chickens! It makes us look stupid!"
That's what made them look stupid? "Please don't sacrifice a chicken in my name."
"Oh wow!" Kayla's eyes went wide. "She's totally right! We can't sacrifice a bird to the Bird Goddess."
Heather gasped. "That would be, like, so wrong!"
"How about a water buffalo?" Mike asked thoughtfully.
"Where are we going to get a water buffalo?" Stewie whined. "They're from southeast Asia!"
"I've got a stuffed toy one," Kayla piped up.
I waved my arms in front of me. "No, guys, seriously. Don't even sacrifice a stuffed animal to the Bird Goddess."
"Your wish is our command." Stewie bowed deeply.
There was a loud crack, and the short, heavyset redhead whimpered. "I can't move. I threw out my back again."
Heather perked up. "Let's get him to the church and chant over him!"
That got my attention. "Church?"
"Oh," Kayla said. "We bought a church. It's called The Chapel of Despair!"
Mike nodded. "It used to be Lutheran. They have a huge fridge in the basement."
"We've stocked it with Dr. Pepper," Heather said. "For all of our late-night rituals."
Stewie said from his bent over position, "And it has Wi-Fi! We couldn't get Wi-Fi in the woods."
"Some are saying that we're not really druids since we don't do stuff in the woods anymore," Kayla mused. "It's hindered our membership drive."
I looked at the four teens who'd been in it from the start. It was probably for the best that they didn't have new recruits for the cult.
Stewie held up his index fingers. "They will all be begging to join us when we get Xbox for the church!"
I didn't have time for this. "Good luck with that. Thanks for coming by. Good luck with Stewie's back."
They filed out of the house with the hunched over Stewie, who gave me the thumbs-up from his doubled over position. Rex joined me as they started cramming Stewie into the hearse.
"Is that your group?" he asked.
"My cult. Duh," I corrected before shutting the door.