Chapter Eleven

Before Mr. Too-Much made his vehicle, Tulip had jumped in beside me and I was directing Thor out of the parking space. I floored the gas petal in my rush to get back to the café before it was torn to pieces by a horde of angry villagers. A crowd with pitchforks as in Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein came to mind. Not a reassuring image.

I parked out back and the two of us raced inside, finding the café filled to bursting with the human version of a noisy swarm of killer bees.

“Well, I say we need to let them know they’re not welcome here. We should elect a group to go right over to the hotel right now and let them know that. Tonight.” Harriet Stokes, one of the stylists at the Clip Joint, had the rapt attention of the women assembled in our café. At least some of the invited guests were occupied, munching cookies and drinking coffee, watching the antics as though they were at the drive-in movie theater our town boasted during the summer months.

I poured myself a cup of coffee, laced it with a jolt of cream and sat, nabbing a peanut butter cookie from a tray sitting open on the tabletop. Tulip had placed cookies on every available open space. Smart. Temptation would lesson suspicion of our products. Maybe this stripper problem would turn out to be a boom for us. Take the heat off, if nothing else. Thank you, strippers, I silently toasted them, munching on the cookie.

“Yes. We need to make it abundantly clear. It’s not acceptable in Snowy Lake for women to remove their clothing for money,” another voice spoke up from the back of the room.

I didn’t bother to mention that that was already the case for a few women who’d chosen another way to make their daily bread in town, not wanting to stir the pot. I guess because they were our scarlet women, it made it okay.

“It’s disgusting! Every time I think of it, my heart flutters. I’m going to have a heart attack or something and it will be on their heads. Mark my words.”

I didn’t bother to check who said it. It could have been any of a number of the women.

I stood. Time to wade in. “They need funds to fix their tour bus, right?” Every eye in the place turned to me. I tried not to shiver and pressed on. “How about we help them with that problem? You know, raise funds in a socially acceptable way for them?”

Silence.

“You know, that’s not a half-bad idea. We could have a bake sale or something. You’d help with that, right, Charm? Tulip?”

I nodded. More free cookies. Well, goodwill is priceless. Harriet Stokes glared at the woman agreeing with me, but thankfully remained silent. A number of heads nodded. Good. It wouldn’t be a consensus, but hopefully enough to push the idea through to a vote.

“We’ll bake up dozens, and all the profit goes to the cause. Every last penny. That bus will be rolling out of town before you know it,” I assured them.

Tulip added her voice. “Yes. We’ll get right on it. Start baking tonight.”

“I’ll add a dozen loaves of my homemade bread,” a strong voice rang out. Was that Helen? I searched the crowd, locating her beaming face behind a couple of other women. She shone, rosy with health. I breathed a sigh of relief. Maybe things were looking up in Snowy Lake.

I waded through the crowd, managing to get close enough to Helen to speak. “That’s nice of you, to help out with your famous bread. I would love to spend a day with you learning your recipe.”

“Least I can do. Sure. When things calm down, I’ll set a day aside and teach you my method. It’s as old as I am. A pioneer recipe from the eighteen hundreds that an ancestor brought over from the old country,” she teased. “Though I must say I haven’t felt this good in years.” Her eyes twinkled as she looked up at me. “Must have been something to do with the iced tea and companionship we shared this afternoon, eh, dear?”

I returned her smile, praying the improvement to her health continued. “Maybe. Glad you’re feeling better.”

Tulip drew my attention by stabbing a fingernail determinedly into my shoulder blade.

“Ow. For heaven’s sake, Tulip. What is it?”

She leaned in and whispered in my ear, “Emma needs to talk to you. She’s in the kitchen and she looks really upset.”

“If you’ll excuse me, Helen, I’ve got some cookies to see to.”

“Sure, dear. I’ll bake bread tomorrow and deliver it to you in the afternoon.”

“Thanks, I appreciate it.”

I hurried after Tulip. Now what?

Emma looked upset when I rushed to her side, her gray eyes huge and bloodshot in her elfin face. Her red curls were haphazardly pinned up in a bun and her clothes were wrinkled as though she’d slept in them for days.

I hugged her, careful not to pull any readings out of her. Emma was my best bud and I respected her way too much to ever accuse her of anything nefarious. Like the Mountie said, I didn’t have murder in me. Well, that went double for my sensitive friend.

“What’s going on, Emma?”

“No one will do the eulogy for my aunt. No one cared about her. No one.” Fresh tears threatened.

“I’m sorry. Everyone deserves a decent send-off.”

“Will you do it, Charm?”

“What? Me? Are you sure I’m the right person? I mean, considering the way she died and all.” I couldn’t say it out loud, that I was under suspicion.

“Phhht. I know you had nothing to do with that. You’ll prove it. Or that new Mountie boyfriend of yours.”

“He’s not my boyfriend. Just a guy working a murder case.”

“Have you found anything out yet? Any leads?”

“I’m working on it. That is, when that Mountie will let me.” I rolled my eyes.

“He sure has taken a liking to you.”

“It’s not like that. He keeps following me around, trying to keep me from learning what I need to, to solve the case. I could resolve the whole thing in no time left to my devices.”

“I know you could. Anything I can do?”

“No, I’ll sort it through. You’ve got enough on your plate. When is the funeral?”

“Not until late next week, at the earliest. I have to wait for the body to be released.”

I nodded, biting my lip.

“Thanks, Charm, for doing this.”

“Hey, you’d do the same for me.” A final hug and she left through the back door. I didn’t blame her for avoiding all the women I could still hear milling about in the front part of the café.

I sighed. What was I going to say about Emma’s auntie that wasn’t an out-and-out lie? Ah, Granny Toogood, of course. She’d lend a hand in writing it. But all that could wait, while solving the crime could not. I checked the time. Nine-thirty p.m. Still early. I’d ruled out Helen and Fred, and of course Emma. That still left Sean and Boyd. And I had just the ticket for seeing Christine and Sean if I hurried. The house speciality, triple chocolate brownies.

Picking up another small box of dainties, I dashed from the kitchen and hurried to my jeep. If I was lucky, I could catch them at home. But as I trawled past their large two-storey brick house, it was dark, just the porch lights on for when someone did come home. So, where had they gone? Friday night meant either the Boots & Lace, which I didn’t figure Christine would appreciate, or visiting friends, which meant I would be out of luck. Best-case scenario, maybe they’d split up for the night and Sean had gone drinking.

The boot-stomping music spilling out onto the street from the honky-tonk suggested the crowd was in fine form tonight. I had no idea what I would find unfolding in the dancehall, but I took a deep breath and entered anyway. The press of heat and bodies and the aroma of popcorn and beer stirred my blood.

Darcy gave me a nod and came right over to the bar rail, where I’d managed to squeeze in between the regulars.

“Have you seen Sean Blackmore here tonight?”

He pointed to his left. “What you want to see him for, sweetheart?” His look suggested I could do a whole lot better.

“I need to see the man about a jar of jam.”

Darcy’s eyebrows near crawled up his forehead and he gave me a lopsided grin.

I took the beer he offered me and wormed my way over in the direction Darcy had pointed out, ducking and diving elbows and raised drink glasses. The crowd was mostly men tonight and I got my fair share of male attention since the stage act looked to be on break at the moment.

Oh, brother. Someone had beaten me to it. Constable Ace Collins sat just as nice as could be across the table from Sean Blackmore. And judging from their expressions, they were getting along just fine.

Dare I interrupt? Duh. And I knew just what to do. The crowded space was about perfect.

I pushed past another pair of drunken revelers, finally making my way to Sean’s side of the table. Sidling up nice and tight to his barstool, I laid my hand on Sean’s shoulder. He started, giving me an up-and-down look.

“Charm, what a pleasure. Sit on my lap if you like. All the chairs are taken. My gain, though.”

“Thanks, I don’t mind standing.”

Ace’s sharp look could have cut through glass. Really. Closer to literally than figuratively. Just sayin’.

“Miss McCall.” He gave me a cool nod of acknowledgment.

I left my hand on Sean’s shoulder, hoping Ace would get the point and ask the right questions. The sense of being on the same team came as a surprise, thundercloud expressions aside.

Sean patted my hand, then played a bit with my fingers. I managed to keep from gagging.

“So, Sean and I were just discussing winter activities.”

“Hmm. You like to ice fish or skidoo?” I raised my eyebrows at Ace.

“Well, all I’m hoping for is to solve the mystery of who laced your jam with cyanide before the snow flies.”

Sean shifted in his seat at the mention of Mrs. Hurst’s unfortunate demise. I held on and closed my eyes, trying to tap into what he was envisioning. He was handing her a thick stack of money. Twenties, judging by the color. And quite recently. What on earth for?

“Before the snow flies, eh. You’re sounding like a true northerner already, Constable,” Sean said, wiggling his forefinger under my hand and tracing circles in my palm, in the age-old gesture of a man interested in being more than just being friends. Too much. I yanked my hand away.

The bank deposits from the folder I’d nabbed came to mind. Okay. Time to see a woman about my suspicions.

“Well, if you gentlemen will excuse me, I gotta run.”

“But, sugar, we were just getting reacquainted. The night’s young. Stay. Have another beer,” Sean said with a pretend pout and an expansive gesture with his arms.

Was that a growl? I gave Ace a quick glance, but other than the scowl, he looked the same. I frowned, certain I’d heard something out of the ordinary.

“Sorry, another time. But thank you for the offer.” I turned and made a beeline for the door. Or as much as one as I could manage through the horde of drunken, but happy, revellers. The sounds of raunchy music drew my attention before I could make it all the way out, and I turned toward them. A half-clad smiling female came prancing her way along the front edge of the stage my sister usually sang on, a come-hither look in her eyes as she licked her lips, signaling her intentions.

Hmm, how very thoughtful of Darcy to have put up a temporary steel pole for dancing and swinging capriciously on. Hope it holds. I watched the stripper reach for it, making me wince. I’d seen a lot of insta-poles fall from the ceiling at the exact wrong second, sending dancers on their keisters. It was a popular category on YouTube.

I finally made the street and took in a deep breath of fresh air. The full moon hung low and added its usual aura of mystery to the night. About now, what I wouldn’t have given for a tourist’s ride to the moon. Anything to take my mind off the insanity residing in Snowy Lake.

Shirley, Boyd’s administrative assistant, was running full tilt down the street toward me. The look on her face told me the truth before she spoke. Something bad was in the wind.

“Charm, oh my goodness, something’s happened to Boyd.” Almost out of breath, she stopped and grabbed her sides.

I took her by the arms and made her look at me. “What, Shirley? What happened?”

“He’s dead. In his office. Just now. I think he choked on one of your brownies. It’s all down his shirt front and everything.” She shuddered with horror.

“No!” My mind went blank with shock.