“Whoa,” Freddie said, stumbling back a step and clutching his chest. “I think I literally reeled there for a second.”
I held Marg’s glare. “What did you say?”
“It’s okay,” Freddie said. “I’m fine. Low blood sugar, I think.”
I shot a hand in his direction to get him to be quiet. “You’re full of it, Marg.”
“What exactly are you talking about?” Freddie asked more diplomatically.
“What do you mean what am I talking about? The twins killed Mr. Ramsbottom,” she said, shooting a smile at the customer in the chair. “Ask anyone in this town over fifty. They’ll tell you what’s what.”
“Well, we just may have to do that,” Freddie said looking at me. “And Ramsbottom? Really? That’s a lot of last name.”
“Marg,” I said taking another step forward. “I’m warning you. If you are going around town spreading this—”
“No,” she said, sharply, pointing the curler at me once again. “Those twins of yours have caused enough pain and suffering in that woman’s life. I have gone over to Hemlock Estate every Monday for the past forty years to do Mrs. Masterson’s hair. She is a dear woman. A real lady. She’s done more for this town than anybody else. She never deserved all that they’ve done to her.”
“Ladies,” Freddie said, putting up his hands. “Ladies. We’re getting off topic here. We were talking about Marg”—he pointed in her direction—“being with Mr. Masterson right before he died. Not Mr. Ramsbottom.”
Both of us shot angry looks over to Freddie. He winked at me then said, “Marg, I just have one more question for you.”
She didn’t answer.
“You see, well, there’s one little thing that I’m still confused about, and if the police were to look at this one little thing the wrong way—” He grimaced and shook his head. “—you could be in some trouble.”
The woman getting the perm clutched her apron. I guess the tension was getting to her.
“What are you going on about now?”
Freddie took two quick steps forward. “What exactly did you give Mr. Masterson right before he died?”
The perm lady gasped. Freddie noticed. I think he liked it.
“Give? What? I didn’t—”
“Don’t you lie to me, Marg,” Freddie said harshly. “That little birdie I told you about has really good eyes.”
Marg furrowed her brow. A moment passed, then she said, “You mean the cough drop?”
Freddie said nothing, just continued to stare at her.
“He had a cough. It’s been going around. I had bought some lozenges that morning from the pharmacy. Ask Sully. He was there.”
“Really,” Freddie said with a nod. “How interesting. And you saw him coughing from across the fairgrounds and just hurried right over to offer a drop?”
“No,” she said, loudly. “I hurried right over to give him hell about Tweety. Everybody knew he was taking up with her again. Mick Masterson had everything a man could want—a dream life—and yet he still had to run around. I thought someone should tell him what we were all thinking.”
“You were worked up enough—one might even say angry enough—to give the man a good talking-to, and yet you still felt it necessary to tend to his cough?” Freddie asked, squinting. “A regular Florence Nightingale you are.”
The customer nodded suspiciously.
Marg whacked her on the shoulder. “Well, there’s no joy in tearing a strip out of someone who’s practically dying right in front of you.”
“Dying?”
Suddenly the room went completely still.
“Well … I don’t know,” Marg said, eyes darting about as though she was trying to remember. “He didn’t look well at the end there.”
Practically dying right in front of her. He was already dying! Which meant whoever gave him the drug, gave it to him before he met up with Tweety!
Freddie and I flashed each other looks.
“We have to go!” Freddie said, hustling over to grab my arm. “Thank you, Marg! You’ve been most helpful!”
He yanked me toward the door as I yelled, “You had better tell that to the police!”
Once outside, I asked, “So where are we going now?”
“I know where we should go next, but whether or not we go there,” Freddie said, shooting a glance in the direction of the police station, “is entirely up to you.”
I didn’t say anything … because something across the street had caught my eye, sending goose bumps running up and down my arms.
“So what’s it going to be, Erica?”
“We’re giving the tapes to Grady.”
“What!” Freddie yelled. “But we have so much to go on—”
I couldn’t help an excited smile from spreading across my face. “We’re giving the tapes to Grady right after we go talk to him,” I said, pointing across the street.
“Who?” Freddie asked, whipping his head around. “Oh … you were messing with me. I love that you were messing with me! It’s a sign! Let’s go.”
* * *
I wasn’t one to believe in signs, but it was kind of funny that when we walked out of The Sharpest Cut, Mr. Sullivan, Sully, was watering his still-blooming baskets of flowers at the front of the pharmacy. At the very least, it felt opportune.
“Okay,” I whispered, leaning toward Freddie. “Not only should we ask him about the cough drops here, but maybe we can get him to tell us what medications Mr. Masterson was on.”
“Agreed.” Freddie skipped ahead, holding up a hand of greeting to Mr. Sullivan.
“Freddie,” the pharmacist said, putting down his watering can to stretch his back. “Nice morning. And is that … who I think it is?” It was clear he couldn’t remember my name. Hey, at least he didn’t call me Boobsie Bloom.
“Erica,” I filled in.
“Of course, Erica. Nice to see you back in town. I’m sorry to hear about Tweety,” Mr. Sullivan said, turning his shaggy-eyebrowed gaze to mine. “I don’t believe for a minute that she had anything to do with that man’s death.”
“Thank you,” I said with a nod. “Actually, Mr. Sullivan, Freddie and I were wondering if we could ask you a few questions.”
Freddie shot me a look.
“We’re hoping to find something that could clear Tweety.”
“Oh … well,” Mr. Sullivan stammered. “Certainly, I guess.” He waved a hand to the front door. “Why don’t we go inside?”
Freddie stepped in front of me before I could follow Mr. Sullivan. “Ever hear of foreplay?” Before I could answer, he added, “I’ve got this, okay? Just stand back. I’m on a roll.”
The pharmacy was actually a lovely old Victorian home. With the library, it was one of the few remaining in Otter Lake. The inside had been renovated, of course, and had all the modern equipment of a pharmacy, but the original woodwork of the main room itself hadn’t been touched, and it was decorated with medical antiques—mainly old dispensary bottles made of colored glass.
I absentmindedly walked over to a cluster of black-and-white pictures hanging on the wall. Maybe Freddie was right … I should be a little more subtle. Slow down a bit. Not look so anxious. The photos were mainly portraits, probably family, but there were a few of the town too. I stopped in front of a gap in the middle of the collection where a frame had been taken down.
“I lent that picture to the fair,” Mr. Sullivan offered. “They have a display of photos near the agricultural building. Mrs. Masterson lent quite a few out too. I should maybe see if she would like them back for the funeral.”
“That’s kind of you.” I hadn’t noticed the display before, so I made a mental note to take a look at it.
“The one I gave them was of the grand opening of the pharmacy. I hope they take good care of it. It’s the only one I have of her from that day.” He smiled then rubbed the front counter with an affectionate look on his face.
Freddie turned his back to Mr. Sullivan, raised his eyebrows, and mouthed what looked to be Bow chicky bow bow.
I shot him a warning look.
“So what did you kids want to ask me about the case?”
Freddie smiled and whispered, “I love that he said that, very Scooby-Doo.” He then whirled around and said, “Well, we were just talking to Marg Johnson, and she was telling us that there’s been a cough going around?”
“Oh yes, she was in for lozenges the other day.”
Freddie nodded. “I don’t suppose you’d know if Mr. Masterson had that same cough?”
Mr. Sullivan chuckled. “Now, Freddie, you know I can’t be sharing personal medical information.”
“Of course. Of course,” Freddie said, nodding. “Besides, rumor has it he died of some sort of overdose?”
Mr. Sullivan pointed a finger at him with a smile. “I don’t put much stock in rumors … but I see what you’re doing here.”
“You do?”
“Leading me in with information you already have, seeing if I’ll let something slip. Very good, my boy. Very good. Everyone’s been saying that you have a knack for the detective business.”
“Do they really?” Freddie said smiling. “Tell me more.”
I slapped him on the back.
“Kidding,” Freddie said, shooting me a look. “But in all seriousness, I know there was some talk about it possibly being an accidental overdose of medication.”
The pharmacist sniffed.
“In fact, Erica tells me her uncle, the lawyer who is representing Tweety, is still really interested in this particular possibility, but I know how thorough you are in giving your patients instructions, so I don’t think that’s likely.”
“Giving instructions is one thing, Freddie. Having customers follow those instructions is another entirely.”
“Oh,” Freddie said, leaning back. “I see. I thought I heard Sheriff Forrester say they were working on the possibility that Mr. Masterson intentionally took too much of his cholesterol medication.”
Mr. Sullivan’s eyes flashed. “Did he really? The cholesterol medication? I told him it was the morphine patches for his arthritis … oh Freddie,” the man said, smiling and tapping the side of his nose. “You got me.”
My eyes flashed to Freddie as a rush ran over my body. Holy crap! He’s done it. He must have known it too, but his face stayed very still.
“I apologize, Mr. Sullivan. Really. I just want to keep this town safe.”
“To be honest, I’m not sure why they aren’t focused more on an accidental overdose,” Mr. Sullivan offered. “That man certainly did have his vices. You tell your uncle that, Erica. It wouldn’t surprise me one bit if he was fooling around with his medication.”
I nodded. “I will.”
He sighed. “I’d like to help. Sheriff Forrester asked me about Tweety’s medications. I had to tell him that she did have a prescription for morphine a while back. I think it was when she cut off that part of her big toe with the lawn mower.”
The exhilaration I had been feeling just moments ago fizzled away. “What? Tweety cut off part of her big toe?”
Mr. Sullivan looked surprised. “You didn’t know?”
“No,” I said, looking to Freddie. He shrugged.
“I felt bad telling him. I knew what he’d think.” He shook his head. “So if I can help in any way, please let me know.”
“Thank you, Mr. Sullivan,” Freddie said, reaching out to take his hand. “You have been really helpful.”
“Sully,” the man interjected, giving Freddie’s hand a good shake.
I rolled my eyes slightly at the male bonding. Nobody seemed interested in shaking my hand. And if Happy Erica was weird, Grown-Up Freddie was even weirder … but also kind of awesome.
“I’ll make sure to tip off the medical examiner about your overdose theory too—”
I made a pfft sound.
Freddie shot me a warning look before turning back to Sully. “Just to be thorough.”
“You do that,” Sully replied. “Thank goodness this town has you.”
Freddie tapped two fingers to his forehead, giving the man a little salute before turning and walking away.
I nodded at Mr. Sullivan. “Thank you.”
By the time I caught up to Freddie, he was already halfway across the street.
“Freddie,” I called out. “Slow down.”
I caught up with him just in time to hear, “Oh my God, I can’t believe that worked. I saw it on Sherlock. I need to sit down.”
“You … did it,” I said, shaking my head. I mean part of me was worried that he had thrown Grady under the bus again, but the important thing right now was Tweety, and I couldn’t deny Freddie his moment. “You really, really did it.”
Freddie grunted and punched the air. “I sherlocked the hell out of that man!”
I stopped walking.
Freddie turned. “Too far?”
“Too far.”
* * *
Despite Freddie being pumped beyond belief, we had to put a hold on our sleuthing. He needed to put in an appearance at the fair, and I wanted some time to think about what to do next. To say Marg’s story upset me was putting it mildly. Like Tweety being suspected of one murder wasn’t bad enough—Marg had to tack on another? But on the bright side, at least we knew for sure now that a number of people had access to Mr. Masterson right before he died, and we knew it was most likely morphine that killed him. It was a start. We had also decided to see what my uncle Jack had to say about the tapes before we handed them over to Grady. He would be the best judge of how to handle the situation.
I walked aimlessly around town for about an hour, trying to wrap my mind around all that had happened, but everything still seemed unreal. And why had nobody told me about Tweety’s accident? Was I really so disconnected from home? Had I given my mother the impression I didn’t want to know about that kind of thing? I mean, I had told her once or twice we needed boundaries … but not lawn mower accident boundaries! I couldn’t help but wonder what else I had missed.
All the thinking I was doing made me hungry, so I decided to buy a hot dog at the fair before taking a look at the photo display Mr. Sullivan had talked about.
I walked over to the agricultural building, letting the processed meat work its soothing magic. The building was located a good distance away from the midway, so there were fewer people, and even though it smelled like manure, the sound of cows mooing was kind of relaxing.
I stopped in front of the large corkboard, popping the last bit of bun into my mouth. The pictures were covered with plastic wrap, and the board itself had an overhang, so the photos were protected from the rain. That should make Mr. Sullivan happy. I spotted the photo he had been talking about pretty quickly. The ribbon-cutting ceremony for the pharmacy. My eyes dropped to the typed strip of paper pinned underneath. MR. RAMSBOTTOM AND MR. SULLIVAN SENIOR. So that was Mr. Ramsbottom. Huh. He looked to be in his fifties when the photo had been taken, probably not all that long before he had died. There was something about him that did sort of emanate power and money. Maybe it was the suit. And my mom was right. He did have a big chest. I noticed a gawky boy standing behind him. Oh my God! Was that Mr. Sullivan Junior? Sully? My eyebrows shot up. I needed to show Freddie this. He had the same in love smile on his face as he’d had back at the store. Wow, that guy really loved his pharmacy.
My eyes slid to another picture. This one captured a fall fair queen standing on a stage waving to the crowd in a modest bathing suit and heels. I leaned forward to read the caption. MARG JOHNSON. Well, crap. I couldn’t help but admit she was a bit of a hottie back in the day … and that really didn’t make me like her any more. I knew she had a mean-girl vibe about her.
My eyes skimmed along the board, passing one picture after the next. There was an old shot of the library … lots of pictures of the fair … then … twins!
I didn’t recognize them at first, but, really, how many identical twins could Otter Lake have? I huddled forward to get a closer look at the grainy photo. It was a group shot, and there were lots of people surrounding them, but the twins stood out. Not in the beauty-salon sort of way that Marg Johnson had. They had more of a buxom, badass vibe, like the pinup woman flexing her bicep in that war poster. I looked at the caption. FAIR VOLUNTEERS.
I scanned the photo again. Wait a minute … off in the background there was a man with a cigarette hanging from the corner of his mouth, leaning against a barn, arms folded across his chest. I knew instantly who it was. The pompadour gave him away every time.
He was looking at one of the twins … had to be Tweety. And the look in his eye … that could make a girl’s knees go weak. It was all need.
I shook my head and leaned back. I couldn’t help but wonder what broke them up. Hard to imagine a guy who could look like that giving his love up for anything, but then again, it was just one look … in a photo from long ago.
Once I had given the board a good once-over, I decided to walk back to the midway to see if Freddie was done terrorizing the town’s teenagers yet. I only made it about halfway through the games when I realized how thirsty I was. The sun was back out, and I was shielded from the wind by all the games, so it was getting pretty hot. I walked over to a guy seated in a giant lemon and bought myself a drink.
Just as I took the first sip, something caught my eye … actually someone. Grady, back in full sheriff’s gear, walking the midway with Rhonda.
My heart clenched at the sight, and I couldn’t help but think again how much this trip sucked. Sure, Tweety was the important thing here. Oh God, and Mr. Masterson. I really needed to stop forgetting about him. But I couldn’t help but grieve just a little bit for the week that could have been.
Just then I saw Rhonda smack Grady a few times on the arm before pointing at the Strong Man Game.
I walked a few steps closer just in time to hear the vendor call out, “Oh ho ho, it’s the Strong Arm of the Law, folks! Come on, Sheriff. Step right up and give it a whack!”
Grady held up a hand to wave him off.
“What?” the man asked. “Are all those pretty muscles just for show?”
Grady arched an eyebrow at the vendor but kept on walking.
“Come on, Sheriff. Show the people of Otter Lake why they can sleep well at night.”
Grady shook his head again, but Rhonda elbowed him in the side then pointed to me. Grady looked over. When he spotted me, he brought a hand up to rub his forehead, but a small smile broke over his face.
I walked a few steps closer to the edge of the gathering crowd.
“Nobody’s won yet, big man,” the vendor yelled, “but I got a feeling you could be the first.”
Grady looked at me again, indecision still on his face, but the smile was getting bigger.
I smiled back and mouthed the words, Do it. Maybe I would get my overpriced teddy bear after all.
He shot me a look with his eyes under his hat that said, Really?
Oh yeah.
I couldn’t help myself. Grady and I needed this moment … a moment that wasn’t all serious and complicated by murder. We needed a moment full of fun, flirtation, and … oh yes, him unbuttoning his sleeves at the wrist and rolling the fabric up his rippling forearms.
“Woo! Sheriff!” a woman shouted from the other side of the crowd. My eyes snapped over. Hmm, Kelly Green. She was at least fifteen years Grady’s senior and worked at the post office. She was also my new mortal enemy. My eyes darted back to Grady. He was gripping the sledgehammer and finding his stance … which made me forgive Kelly just a little bit. Really, who could blame her? Grady in his uniform, showcasing his muscles, was a lot to take. Besides, it sounded like she had visited the beer tent.
Grady shot me one more look, definitely flirtatious this time. Then he swung the hammer.
“Oh, Sheriff!” the man at the game shouted. “You can do better than that! Good thing you’ve got two more tries.”
Grady frowned at the man but then glanced back over at me. I fanned my hand in front of my face to let him know it was getting hot out here. Grady’s smile widened at the sight, and my heart skipped a beat.
He adjusted his stance and grip, then took another swing.
“Oh no!” the man shouted. “That was worse than the first one. Are you sure those pecks are real?”
“I’ll check,” Kelly shouted. “Let me check. I’ll be real thorough.”
Okay, Kelly was getting on my nerves again.
Grady stepped back from the game and wiped his brow with the back of his hand. He looked at me, and I took a long sip from my straw before mouthing, Thirsty? with a quick double pop of my eyebrows.
Grady chuckled this time and nodded.
I stepped over to the lemonade guy and passed him some money without taking my eyes off Grady.
He split his legs a bit farther apart to anchor his stance … and my God did the man make a good stance.
Grady swung this time in a big, big wide arc.
Bam!
Ding! Ding! Ding!
“We have a winner, folks!”
The crowd cheered while I mumbled under my breath, “Wow. Nailed me.”
Someone coughed at my side.
“Matthew?”
He had one fist at his mouth; the other was waving me off. His eyes looked half shocked, half amused. What was so funny? Then it hit me. “I mean it! He nailed it! Not me! He’s never nailed me.”
Matthew laugh-coughed harder, unable to catch his breath.
“Are you okay?” I said, trying to whack him on the back, but my hands were full of lemonade. “Here. Drink this.” I passed him one of the cups just as Grady and Rhonda walked by …
Aw … crap.
Grady took a look at the drink. Then at Matthew. Then at me.
“No. No. No,” I said, waving my free hand in the air. “I gave him mine this time. This one’s yours.” I held out the full lemonade.
But they kept walking. Grady tossed the teddy bear he had won to Rhonda … who looked over her shoulder at me, head slowly shaking with disgust.
“Oh, man,” Matthew said. “First I drank his coffee, and now this. Did you want me to go explain what happened? Give him his lemonade?”
“I really doubt that will help,” I said, watching Grady walk away. “Besides, I don’t think he’s thirsty anymore.”
“Funny,” Matthew said. “I’m always thirsty.” His expression stayed completely still, straw in his mouth … before his eyes widened just a touch in feigned innocence.
I couldn’t help my drop my chin to my chest and laugh a little.
It was either that or cry.