If Mashed Potatoes Could Dance (22 page)

“Go talk to Jim, Betts,” Jake said as he wrangled on the vest. “Besides, if Cliff escorts you across the street, you can use the front door. It’ll look like he had a reason other than preparing me for ‘the drop’ to be here.”

Cliff and Jake coordinated Jake’s departure time. Cliff assured Jake that he was well-covered and his safety was their first priority.

Cliff didn’t handcuff me or even hold my arm as we zigzagged around and through tourists. Jake had canceled his last performance of the day, and a few people were milling outside his building muttering that they were disappointed they wouldn’t get to hear his poem.

When we reached the jail, Cliff pulled out a ring full of keys. Other than at night during the off-season, I’d never seen these doors locked before.

“What’s that about?” I asked.

“Too many curious tourists. We can’t let them in right now.”

“What if someone needs help?” I asked as I walked inside.

“We’ve got people outside,” Cliff said as he closed the door and locked it again behind us.

The inside of the jail looked foreign and unfamiliar. I was used to seeing Jim, Cliff, and maybe one other officer at their appealingly messy desks. The two back cells were usually empty, and the cuckoo clock on the wall could be heard every fifteen minutes, but it would be difficult to hear any cuckoo noise at this point. The entire place had been transformed. In addition to the two desks, three tables were now set up in the small space. I did a quick head count and was surprised to find
a total of nine people present, all of them either on a computer or on a phone or in serious conversation with one another.

“Cliff?”

“There’s been a murder, and there are still two people missing, Betts. We called in some reinforcements.”

Any thoughts I might have had about Jim missing something pertinent to the case were immediately erased. He was more than on top of things.

“Coffee?” Cliff asked as he guided me to a chair beside Jim’s desk.

“No thanks, I’m good.”

“I’m leaving, Betts. I’m going to help the guys who are already at the park. Jim will talk to you when he can, but it looks like he’s in the middle of something. Stay put.”

Jim and another man were looking at something on one of the extra tables. Jim had his cell phone to his ear, but he was talking to the man next to him, not whoever was on the other end of the call.

I grabbed Cliff’s arm. “Be careful.” I’d known this entire situation was serious, but the ramped–up police staff had suddenly given me a clearer picture. Yes, maybe the criminals were unsophisticated, but they’d still kidnapped and killed. This was bad.

“I’ll stay with him.” Sally had suddenly appeared behind him. “I was just at Jake’s, and I figured out what he was up to and where you were. I can watch the whole thing. I’ll come back and tell you what I know as soon as I know it for sure.”

“Always,” Cliff said.

“Thank you,” I said as I looked at Sally. Cliff didn’t notice because he was back out the door only a few seconds later, Sally right behind him.

“Betts,” Jim said as he sat in his desk chair and signaled
the person he was with to sit in another one, “this is a friend. He’s a police officer in South Carolina. He’s traveling through town and not here in any official capacity, but I’ve asked him to look at what we have with a fresh pair of eyes. You okay with him listening?”

The man was probably in his early forties, handsome in that I’m–in–great-shape way. His hair was brown and kind of curly, and his bright blue eyes emanated a sense of authority that made me think he must be extremely intense.

“Sure,” I said.

“Sam, this is Isabelle Winston; we call her Betts. Betts, this is Sam Brion.”

We both nodded.

“We got a call from Cece Montgomery…excuse me, I’ve got to take this.” Jim looked at his cell phone, stood, and walked away as he put the phone to his ear.

“Where in South Carolina are you from?” I asked Sam.

“I’m originally from Chicago, but now I live in Monson, South Carolina. You heard of it?”

“No. I’ve been to Myrtle Beach, but that’s about it for South Carolina. The beach was beautiful.”

Sam nodded. His eyes were interesting in that they reminded me a little of mood rings—they seemed to change shades slightly with his tone. Right now, he seemed friendly, but I sensed he wasn’t always.

“It is a beautiful state. Monson’s pretty small, but it’s a great place to live—lots of open space, fresh air, farm country, amazing fruits and vegetables.”

“Not much crime?”

“Well, not as much as Chicago, but surprisingly we’ve had our fair share of murders lately.”

“Us, too, but we’ve seen more than our fair share before.”

“I noticed.”

“Look, Betts,” Jim said, returning to his chair, “I’ve got to be available for any call, so forgive me if I get up again, but I need you to tell me quickly about what you saw on the bus. I know you didn’t steal any credit cards. I don’t think Mrs. Montgomery does either, but I need to know what happened. Go over that whole block of time again, just in case.”

“Sure.”

I had told Cliff about Mr. Hart leaving the cooking school, but I hadn’t told him about the alleged missing wallet because I’d gleaned that information from Sally and even she hadn’t been totally certain about what she thought she’d heard.

As I recounted everything again, inserting as many details as I could remember, including a comment about maybe hearing from somewhere that a wallet might have been missing, I thought I caught a look between the two of them that they didn’t want me to catch, but I couldn’t be certain and I didn’t stop the story to ask.

When I was done, Jim looked at Sam and said, “You think?”

“I don’t know, Jim, but it sure is curious,” Sam said.

“What?” I said.

“Cece Montgomery’s credit cards weren’t the only things stolen,” Jim said after he looked at me a long minute. “I can’t give you more details, but it’s another lead. Oh, we did find Suzi Warton’s car. Whoever took it abandoned it outside of town, not far from the bed-and-breakfast. We’re looking for clues, but it seems to have been wiped clean.” I guessed that they’d learned about the other missing items from Leroy a few minutes after he and Georgina had come over from the shoe shop, but it didn’t feel like the right time to take credit for helping steer the information in their direction.

“The car still in good shape?” I asked.

“Yes. It looks like whoever took it didn’t even put ten miles on it.”

Suddenly, Sally appeared in front of me. I jumped slightly, which garnered looks from the police officers, but they didn’t comment.

“Jake’s done,” she said. “He’s fine. Cliff is fine. I’ll be back.” She disappeared again.

Jim’s phone buzzed and he stood and excused himself again.

“Did Jim really need to talk to me right away or was it his way of keeping me from the other thing that was going on?”

Sam smiled. “Actually, it was Cliff who thought you might need something to do; however, the information was helpful to their investigation, I know that. Don’t tell Cliff I ratted him out. I think he just wanted to make sure you were safe.”

I looked around the converted jail that today reminded me of a big-city police station. “This was the place to put me, then.”

Sam smiled again and stood. “Nice to meet you, Betts. Excuse me, too, I’ve got a couple calls I should make myself.”

“You can go,” Jim said a moment later. “Jake should be back across the street in a minute.”

“Did everything go okay?”

“Still going. No one’s picked up the bag yet. We’ll watch it. I’ll try to let you know.”

I stood and wove my way to the door. Someone I didn’t know unlocked it, let me out, and then locked it again. Once securely on the boardwalk, I resisted the urge to wipe my hand over my forehead and say
Phew
. As I stepped toward Jake’s, I heard a voice that sounded somewhat familiar.

“Oooh, how about some cookies?”

I turned to see that two of the foodies weren’t spending their time beside the hotel pool. Vivienne and Charlene seemed to be taking full advantage of everything Broken Rope had to offer. They both had on one of our signature T–shirts that featured a cut and frayed rope and said:
I broke the rope and got away with only this lousy T–shirt.

“Hello,” I said as I turned. “Remember me?”

“Of course, Ms. Winston. How are you?” Charlene said.

“I’m fine. How are you two?” I paused. I still didn’t understand the dynamics of the group, but I felt I should say something. “I’m sorry about your friends.”

“Thank you. We have hope that the other two will be found alive and well, but we are truly sorry for Mrs. Carlisle. Though we didn’t know him well, Mr. Carlisle always seemed like a nice man.”

“You didn’t know him well?”

“Not really,” Vivienne said.

“You traveled together for many years, though, right?”

“Oh, well, yes mostly. The Carlisles just joined us last year.”

“Oh.” I wasn’t sure how I’d missed that detail or if it mattered, but it was somehow interesting. “I didn’t know.”

“There would be no reason for you to know that,” Vivienne continued. “In the meantime, we’ve done every tourist thing Broken Rope has to offer. You have the best cemeteries around. We’re going to spend whatever time we have left continuing to explore those. And we’re sticking together, just like the police told us to do. Don’t roam around alone and all.”

“After we get some cookies.” Charlene pointed to the Broken Crumbs cookie shop at the other end of the street.

“Sounds great. Mabel’s cookies are wonderful.”

“Excellent! What else should we do? Let’s see, we’re going to see the Sally Swarthmore show this afternoon. In all these
years, I’ve never taken the time to see that show. We’re usually in for the Showdown and then out of here soon afterward. As horrible as the reasons are, we’re trying to see more of the town than we ever have,” Vivienne said as she pushed her sunglasses up her nose.

“Did you notice the cemetery next to the cooking school? That’s where Sally is buried,” I said. “As well as some other infamous Broken Rope residents.”

“I had no idea! How exciting to see Sally’s grave. It’s her real one, right, not just a tourist gimmick?”

“It’s the real one.”

“We’ll head back out there later if Leroy will let us use the car. He’s been kind of stingy with it and the rental company says they won’t have any more to rent for a couple days. Broken Rope must be having a good summer.”

I nodded. “At least he’s been bringing you dinner,” I fished.

“Not us. We’ve been going out late to that Bunny’s place. Had the best corned beef sandwiches last night,” Charlene said.

What had Leroy done with the three dinners?

“Bunny’s serves great corned beef,” I said. “I hope you have a good time. Let me give you my cell phone number in case you need something.”

As I finished giving them my number, Jake opened the front door to his building. He looked no worse for the wear as he signaled to me. I was so relieved to see him that I forgot all about the detail of who ate the three dinners.

Gram used to tell me that the devil was in the details. I never quite understood what that meant, but I was sure to find out very soon.

“There wasn’t much to it. Only a few people were in the
park, none of whom paid me the least bit of attention. I walked to the bench, put the bag under it, and left. I had no further instructions and still don’t have any. I assume the police will be watching the site until something happens. I guess that could be any time or never. Betts and I were talking about how unsophisticated it all seems. Maybe whoever did this is naïve enough to think the police—if I actually did contact them—would just leave after I dropped the bag,” Jake said to Gram.

He pulled his foot up to the bottom rung of the stool. I’d made him come with me back to the cooking school. I wanted him away from his archives and distracted from dwelling on much of anything. I’d told him he and I would cook dinner. Besides, it wouldn’t hurt to have him there when it got dark and I performed my ghost experiment for Gram, even though I knew he wouldn’t see much of anything. When we’d arrived
at the school, Gram had just finished cleaning and was working on website ideas. She’d offered to cook us dinner instead of us cooking if we told her about the rest of the day.

“You haven’t received any calls or anything?” Gram asked.

“No,” Jake said. “Nothing else other than the two notes.”

Gram looked over as she stirred her old-fashioned spaghetti sauce. Meatballs were cooking in the oven, and the pasta had just been thrown into the boiling water. We didn’t have any hard bread on hand, but she had transformed a loaf of regular bread into something cheesy, garlicky, and buttery. Improvisation, she often said, was just as important as a good recipe. When she was growing up, she lived out in the country and they didn’t always have the ingredients they needed. Gram claimed that we’d all gotten lazy because if we didn’t have garlic bread or French bread around, we ignored the perfectly good regular bread that was just waiting to be included in a delicious spaghetti dinner. To be fair, substituting one type of bread for another wasn’t as interesting as some of her other tricks involving cream, applesauce, and spices.