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I pushed my way to the front of the crowd. I couldn't believe it. I looked at Stan and Fred and asked, "What happened?"
"What do you think happened?" asked Fred. "She DIED. And it looks like it might have been A MURDER." The entire crowd began muttered to each other in excitement and Officer Fred was eating it up. "Now everyone stand back! Stand back! We're going to have to interview some witnesses and we don't want to contaminate the CRIME SCENE."
"I just saw her," I blurted out. "I walked by about an hour ago."
"WAS SHE ALIVE WHEN YOU SAW HER?" shouted Officer Fred, pointing a finger in my face.
I pulled away. "I don't know! She looked just like she does now."
Fred and Stan squinted their eyes and looked at each other. Slowly, they nodded in unison.
"So. She was dead an hour ago..." repeated Stan.
"BUT WE FOUND AN EMPTY BOX IN HER BOOTH FROM YOUR BAKERY! DID YOU KILL HER? WHO ARE YOU PROTECTING?" Fred shouted at me.
"I didn't kill her!" I replied, backing away. "I didn't even give her that box!"
"Then HOW did she get the box?" asked Stan. He didn't seem to know he was supposed to be playing the good cop in this scene. I think they both just enjoyed playing bad cop so much, they forgot.
"My Granny brought some cinnamon rolls over to her this morning," I answered.
"Aaaaahhh... so your GRANNY brought over the box of deadly carbohydrates..." said Stan. He pointed his finger in my face. "TELL HER NOT TO LEAVE TOWN."
"Why would she leave town?" I asked. "It's Founders' Festival."
"Just tell her that we say so!" Fred piled on.
"Don't you want to tell her yourself?" I mentioned.
"We have A LOT OF WORK to do," said Stan.
"SO MUCH WORK!" added Fred.
"Here at the crime scene. And we have to do it all before the evening ferry."
"So we'll be really busy."
"So, just tell your Granny that she can't leave on the evening ferry."
"You could just not sell her a ticket...?" I pointed out.
"STOP TRYING TO CORRUPT THE JUDICIAL SYSTEM!" shouted Fred.
"I'm not! I'm not," I replied.
"Her Granny really hated that woman," said Doyle, taking a long drag off his cigarette. He blinked the smoke out of his eyes. "I wonder if she hated her enough to kill her. You said that they had an argument this morning, didn't you, Paige?"
You could always count on Doyle to stir the pot. "They had a conversation. Nothing to KILL a person for," I said. "This is my grandmother we're talking about."
"We'll be over to talk to your Granny after we get this crime scene secure," said Officer Stan.
"What if Georgia just had a heart attack?" I asked. "Georgia was not exactly the healthiest person in the world."
"NOW YOU'RE DISPARAGING THE DEAD??" shouted Officer Fred. "Very suspicious indeed...."
I pointed at Georgia. "She sat inside a glass box twelve hours a day."
"We'll leave that to the coroner to decide," Stan stated.
"DO WE LOOK LIKE CORONERS?" asked Officer Fred.
I just turned and walked away. Not even a month ago, these idiots had falsely accused me of killing the surveyor. They had falsely accused Nate of killing his uncle. They had falsely accused Tim, the bait shop owner of killing everyone... okay, that one was sort of my fault. I had told them it was him and was super wrong.
But still.
As I walked down the street, the face of another person I didn't particularly want to deal with today stepped into view. The door to Jake's bar opened and Trevor came out pushing a broom. He looked out at the hubbub and seemed confused, and then he spotted me. "What's going on, Paige?"
"Oh, the woman who worked in the ticket booth was found dead. They think it might be a murder."
Trevor suddenly seemed scared. He slowly and deliberately leaned his broom against the side of his bar. "They wouldn't think it was me, would they?"
I was flabbergasted this was his first response. "Why would they think it was you?" I replied.
He looked at me like I was the idiot. "Because my uncle was a mass murderer, and the day after I show up in town, someone dies."
"Oh," I said, suddenly seeing things from his point of view. "Yeah. That does look bad."
"I don't even have anyone to vouch for me," he continued. He reached up and gripped his curly black hair with his two hands. It looked like the poor guy was going into PTSD-related shock. "I thought coming here would stop all this madness from happening."
I remembered how bad it felt to have been accused of killing the surveyor. It was a hell no one should go through. And to have all your dreams destroyed because some relative you barely knew was a psychopath? I reached out and rested my hand on Trevor's forearm. "Listen, why don't you come with me over to Bitter Beans? I'll buy you a cup of tea. I promise not to accuse you of anything."
He relaxed a little and then nodded. I waited as he put his broom back inside and locked the door.
"You don't really have to lock up around here," I mentioned.
"You just had a woman maybe murdered in a tollbooth in broad daylight. I'm going to lock my front door."
He had a point.
As we walked away, I glanced back and saw Doyle staring after us. He lit a second cigarette from the embers of the one in his mouth, his eyes never wavering.