If Mashed Potatoes Could Dance (8 page)

“Who would do that to that poor man?”

“I don’t know, Jake. I don’t know.”

After I’d left his office, Jake had continued working for a while in the archives, searching for information about Sally and the reporter Edgar O’Brien. When he finished, he cleaned everything up, walked out the front door, and stepped right into the middle of a nightmare.

Greg Carlisle lay facedown on the boardwalk in front of his office, seemingly passed out. Though not as often as in times past, Broken Rope still saw its fair share of drunken, passed-out tourists. At first, that’s what Jake thought he’d found, but the rope around the man’s neck made him think twice.

Jake turned the body over, confirming that not only was the man dead, probably by hanging, but he’d also been made into a prop straight from our local gruesome history. The story of how Broken Rope got its name included a noose and a rope that hadn’t quite done the trick the first time. Greg Carlisle’s neck was encircled in a noose, the knot and the cut piece of hanging rope falling down the front of him like a Halloween-costume necktie.

Even late at night in the summer, Broken Rope’s Main Street saw some foot traffic. There was a saloon on the corner that actually sold more ice cream shakes than booze, but still, some of our visitors—and residents—were often out pretty late.

When Jake found Greg, however, the street was unusually empty. Jake yelled for help, but no one was around. He ran to Jim’s office, but the doors were locked. Finally, he called 911 and eventually talked to Jenny. By the time Jim got downtown, the tourists who’d been nonexistent just a short time earlier were suddenly coming from everywhere. Jim had to secure the scene to try to preserve at least some evidence. He
sent me and Jake to his office while he waited for Cliff to help him with the curious onlookers and the dead body.

Now, here Jake and I sat, trying to make sense of it all.

“And what was the point of putting him in front of my place, where I work?” Jake asked.

That thought had crossed my mind, too. “You know how some people think you really are the sheriff. Maybe someone was getting into the spirit of the town. The sign above your door doesn’t include the word
fake
.”

“It might after tonight.”

I put my arm around him just as Sally suddenly appeared in front of us.

“What’s going on now?” she asked. “What’s going on out there?” She pointed the ax.

“Jake, Sally Swarthmore’s here,” I said. We were the only ones in the jail, so I didn’t have to whisper or talk without moving my lips.

I should have known that no matter what he might have just been through, Jake would perk up at the arrival of a ghostly visitor.

“Oh, oh, tell her…” he began as he sat up straight.

“He knows?” Sally said.

“Yes, he knows. He’s a good friend,” I said.

“Can he see me?”

“No.”

“That’s too bad. He’s cute, in a
cute
way.”

“She thinks you’re cute,” I said to Jake.

“Does she look like her pictures?” Jake asked.

“Sort of. You know those old pictures; no one smiles and they pose so stiffly. Sally’s actually prettier than her pictures, and she has good teeth, so there’s no reason she shouldn’t have been smiling.”

“You think I’m pretty?” Sally said.

“I’m Jake. It’s an honor,” he said gallantly, like only Jake could.

“I do think you’re pretty, Sally,” I said. “I think she’s blushing,” I said to Jake.

“May I ask you some questions?” Jake said to the air in front of us. He nudged me with his elbow.

“Tell him, sure, but I’d like to know what’s going on out there first.”

I confirmed to Jake that he could ask in a second and then replayed the events to Sally.

“Oh my, oh my, more death. I don’t like death,” Sally said.

It was an odd comment considering her history, but I didn’t point out the obvious.

“Did you find anything in your…search?” I asked.

She shook her head. “No, not a thing—well, nothing that has anything to do with your missing friends. I might have found something about the diary, but we can’t worry about that now. Who would have killed that man?”

“We have no idea,” I said.

“I should really be able to help. I should be able to sneak up on people and figure this out,” she said sincerely. “It doesn’t work that way, though. I can sneak around, but if I don’t have some idea where to go, I can’t be led there.”

I remembered something Jerome had told me, something about only being able to travel to a specific place, but not to a person or a conversation or an event.

“I know,” I said. “It’s not an easy thing.”

“No, but I’ll try. How long will the two of you be in here?”

Before I could answer, the front door swung open. Jim, his face stern, led the way. He was followed by Cliff and an irate bus driver.

“She admitted to having an arrest record, and you didn’t even talk to her much!” Leroy said. His hands were balled into fists, and his hair looked ruffled, as though he’d been running his hands through it. He reminded me of a child about to have a full-fledged temper tantrum.

Jim pushed through the short swinging gate that separated the lobby from the desk/work area. He glanced impatiently toward Jake and me but didn’t acknowledge us right away.

“Mr. Norton, not that my interview with Ms. Warton is any of your business, but her arrest record doesn’t have anything to do with kidnapping or murder, which are the two things we’re dealing with at this moment. If I find that Ms. Warton is guilty of either or both of those things, I’ll arrest her and see that she pays for her crimes.”

“Not any of my business? You were interviewing us all together in that…that dormitory.”

“I was asking questions because three of your travel companions were missing at the time. Trust me, the real interviews will be…oh, for heavens’ sake, why am I even talking to you? Look, I have a possible kidnapping and a definite murder to investigate. You’re on the list of people I need to talk to, but right now I have something else to attend to. Please, go with Cliff back to your group. I’ll get to you…and Ms. Warton for that matter.”

Leroy looked around the room. Jake and I were stone silent, neither of us sure what we should say or do. Even Sally was quiet, probably realizing now might not be a good time to add one of her chuckles or a sarcastic comment, even if I was the only one who could hear her.

As Leroy scanned the room, the expression on his face changed from one of panicked furiousness to something sad and afraid.

“I’m sorry. I’m worried. These people…I’ve been their driver for years. I’m sad about Mr. Carlisle and worried about the others. Please, let me know what I can do to help find the killer.”

Jim seemed too angry to speak, his face and bald head red and splotchy, but he nodded slightly.

“Cliff, please take Mr. Norton back to the group. I’ll send a couple officers out to relieve you, but for now I want you to stay with them all.”

Cliff nodded and said, “Come on, Mr. Norton.” He looked at me quickly as he put his hand on Leroy’s arm and led him out of the jail.

When we were high school sweethearts, Cliff and I could communicate with a look, a glance, a wink. We still had some of that; this glance told me that things were bad, horrible even, and he wasn’t sure how much worse they were going to get, but it wasn’t going to be pretty.

Greg Carlisle had been found dead, but there were still two people missing. Were they going to show up just as dead, or were they being held somewhere? If they had been kidnapped, why?

“I’m going, too. I’ll find you later,” Sally said before she disappeared.

I swallowed the words I wanted to say to her. I wished I could tell her to look closely not only at the foodies and Suzi Warton but also at the hodgepodge of people milling around town. We were in the middle of tourist season. There were more strangers than neighbors in Broken Rope. It would be impossible for Jim and his crew to investigate them all. If there was someone who stood out, Sally could observe them without them knowing. Jake would understand me speaking
to the air, but Jim wouldn’t, and he and I had already been there, done that scenario with Jerome.

After Sally, Cliff, and Leroy left, I wondered what Jim would do next. As friendly as I was with him and his family, he was in no mood for polite conversation. He glanced at his computer screen and then opened the wide front drawer on his desk. He rummaged around inside, pulled out a blue pen, and finally looked at Jake.

“I need your statement, Jake. You ready to give that to me?”

“Sure, Jim.”

“Betts, I’d like to talk to you later. I doubt you have any plans to leave town, but just in case…don’t.” It sounded like a firm dismissal.

“She can’t stay?” Jake asked.

“Not right now, no.”

I turned to Jake. “You need to have an attorney present if you’re being questioned by the police.”

He thought a long minute. “I don’t want an attorney.”

I knew Jake could never kidnap or kill anyone. Jim was a good guy, but he and I had been in this position before. He was acting as an officer of the law, not a friend. Last time, I’d insisted that Gram have an attorney present, but even my best friend status with Jake didn’t give me the influence over his situation that I’d had over Gram’s. Jim had only asked for a statement, but still.

“Jake,” I said as I looked hard at his eyes, “I advise that you have an attorney present whenever you talk to the police. We could call Verna.” Verna Oldenmeyer was the best local attorney in town. I knew that she and her husband, Ben, weren’t away on one of their fishing trips. I also knew that
she and Jake had become good friends. Her love of genealogy and his love of Broken Rope history made them soul mates of a nonromantic sort. She’d be there for Jake in an instant.

“No,” Jake said again. “I just want you to stay.”

“I’m not an attorney,” I said with an impatient sigh. I was continually surprised at how often I had to say those words.

Jake and I had been friends for so long that we were able to communicate in more ways than just with words, though not to the extent that Cliff and I could. I didn’t always understand what he was trying to tell me, but I tried to. The somewhat pleading tone of his voice got my attention.

“I don’t need an attorney,” Jake added.

“Okay,” I finally said. “Jim?”

He’d caught Jake’s tone, too. He looked hard at my friend and then at me. I could tell he was debating how much energy he’d have to use to get me to leave. Ultimately, he probably realized that it would just be easier to let me stay than to argue.

“Sure. Fine,” he finally acquiesced.

Jim pulled out his old cassette recorder and plopped it on his desk. He hit the record button and said, “Broken Rope police chief Jim Morrison, interviewing Jake Swanson about the events surrounding his discovery of the body of one Greg Carlisle, a tourist visiting town.”

I’d also experienced Jim’s recorder before. There was something inherently intimidating about having your words recorded. I was glad I’d stayed for moral support if nothing else.

Jake cleared his throat.

“Jake, tell me what happened this evening. The events leading up to the discovery of the body until the current moment,” Jim continued.

Jake cleared his throat again before he spoke.

“Earlier this evening, Betts…”

“That’s Isabelle Winston,” Jim interrupted.

“Yes, Betts came by to look at some archives.”

“Excuse me again,” Jim said. “What archives?”

“She was interested in information regarding Sally Swarthmore.”

I didn’t have a good answer for him if he wondered why late one evening I just happened to want to look at old stuff about a long-dead ax murderer. He thought a moment, shrugged slightly, and said, “Okay. Go on.”

“We looked at the archives until approximately eleven o’clock, when she got a call that caused her to leave in a hurry.”

“It was from Suzi Warton. She was panicked and wanted me to get to the dormitory,” I interjected. Jim nodded.

Jake continued. “I decided to do some more research so I…I guess I looked through some files and other things. I did some reading. Soon, I started to get tired.” It wasn’t unusual for Jake to fall asleep in the archive room. He enjoyed the research so much that he frequently spent the night there. He had a full bathroom and plenty of clothes in the back, so he was prepared for any overnighters. “I guess it was about midnight when I decided to go home and get some rest. I cleaned up the files and then left the office. When I opened the door, I saw the body…but I thought it was just someone who’d had too much to drink. I turned him over and saw…saw that he was dead.”

It was the same story he’d told me, but this time I realized something I hadn’t before. In fact, if I had seen earlier what I was seeing now, I would have called Verna myself. I tried to keep my face as neutral as possible, but my eyes must have
widened at least briefly. It was Jake’s hands; there was something wrong with them. I hoped Jim didn’t see what I was seeing.

But Jim is a good police officer. Unfortunately.

“Jake, what happened to your hands?” he asked as I sat motionless, willing my face not to redden from the zip of concern speeding up my pulse.

Jake, Jim, and I looked at his open hands. “Oh, this? They’re rope burns. I was moving one of those antique tillers I have on my property yesterday and the rope slipped through my hands. I should have worn gloves.” Jake laughed. They weren’t gruesome injuries. Each hand had a couple of short scratches and burns. The way Jake held them as he spoke seemed to put a spotlight on the rough, red marks, though.

“Moving an antique tiller?” Jim said. “Betts, did you notice the rope burns earlier?”

It was time to be insistent. Even if Greg Carlisle hadn’t died by hanging, his body had been found with a rope around his neck.

“Jake, that’s enough,” I said. “Jim, Jake and I won’t be saying—”

“I know, you won’t be saying anything more without an attorney present. I get it,” Jim said, and he clicked off the recorder.