The Iced Princess (13 page)

What a thing to face. “Is there anything we can do?” I said.

“No, but it's good of you to ask. And don't worry about me. I'll be fine. The food is pretty good, and they gave me an extra mattress so I'll be more comfortable.” It seemed the Buffalo County jailers had heart. “There are only a few other women here, so it's quiet in our section, our cellblock. But there was something strange when we walked past the booking area just now. I saw that one of the women from my church was getting fingerprinted. I can't imagine what that kind soul is here for.”

An alarm went off in my brain, and Pinky stuck her knee in my back. What should I tell Mrs. Ryland? “Pinky and I
happen to know about that. But, um, I guess we can't say anything yet.”

She nodded. “I understand. Oh my, I hope I wasn't speaking out of turn by telling you that.”

“Um, no, of course not.” Mark had told us many times that the names of people who got arrested and those who were in jail was public record. “Well, I guess we have to go for now, but we'll check back. And if you need anything, be sure to call me. I'll accept the charges.” We'd learned when Archie was in jail that inmates either had to buy a calling card or make collect calls.

“Thank you again,” Mrs. Ryland said and pushed herself up.

The jailer standing by waited for the click that popped the door lock then pulled it open enough to let Mrs. Ryland out. She turned and waved as she was escorted away.

I got up, and Pinky and I headed out of the jail lobby. The north wind hit us as we stepped away from the protection of the building. “Brrr. I'm going to call Clint and check to be sure they don't put Emmy in the same cellblock as Mrs. Ryland.” I pulled out my phone.

“Holy moly, I didn't even think of that.”

Clint answered right away and assured me that the jail staff knew who was who and what their charges were. They would keep the two women in separate blocks. “You don't have to tell me how to do my job, Camryn.”

My blood pressure rose after he barked out his last sentence. I was only trying to help. “I wouldn't presume to be that smart, Assistant Chief Lonsbury.” I hung up before he said another word.

“What was that all about?” Pinky said.

“Just Clint being his normal irritating, exasperating self, telling me to mind my own business. He had made sure the jailers knew that Irene was Molly's mother, so Emmy and Irene would be separated.”

“What a mess, huh? And speaking of Molly's mother, I hadn't seen her in, like, forever and didn't realize she'd gone that far downhill, healthwise. She wouldn't be able to hurt a fly even if she wanted to. But I suppose she could create a scene with Emmy,” Pinky said.

“You are right on. You know, I've been thinking about this since this morning when Mrs. Ryland told us what she'd done. As much as I love you and all my friends and my family, I wouldn't do what she did to protect Molly. I think I've always known that I'd be in way more trouble trying to cover something up than confessing right off the bat.”

“Not to mention the fact that it's against the law. My parents drilled the same thing into me.”

Pinky elbowed my arm. “You know, Cami, when all that stuff happened with Archie last month, and now with Emmy and Molly and her mother, it all makes me realize that I could never do Mark's and Clint's job. Can you imagine how hard it would be to arrest people you know, especially if that person happened to be your friend? Whenever I think of our dear Archie being hauled off to jail, it makes me want to cry. And sometimes I do.”

“I do, too. But the one good thing that came out of that is Archie is in a place where he's getting the treatment he needed all these years.”

“That's the other thing, the real sad part; he suffered in silence forever. I wish he had told us, or someone, what was
going on. I mean, he'd been having nightmares since Vietnam, for crying out loud.”

“Pinky, even if he had, would we have known Archie had PTSD and was on the brink of going into combat mode if he felt threatened? But you're right; if he had gotten help years ago, Jerrell Powers would probably still be alive.”

Pinky shrugged then nodded. “I've heard some of my customers talk about Veterans' Services and how they've helped with all kinds of things. I'm sure Archie was around when some of those guys talked about it, too. If he had gone to see those Veterans' Services people, they would have asked the right questions and figured out that's what Archie had.”

“Yeah, you're right. The sad thing is that Archie was too proud to ask for help. Or maybe to figure out he needed help. Anyway, we've got to take another trip to St. Peter soon and visit him.”

“Yes, we do. And in the meantime, he loves getting our letters. He went on and on about that the last time I talked to him on the phone.”

“Our sweet, old-fashioned, quirky friend.”

Pinky, Erin, and I had known Archie since childhood, and he was unlike anyone else we knew. He was at home communicating with the trees in his parks, and he had a way of making kids feel important.

We crossed the street to the front of our shops where Pinky's car was parked. “I don't think we should tell Archie about Molly and everything else just yet. You know how he obsesses about things, and it might interrupt the progress he's making with his treatment,” I said.

“I agree, but I just don't know how to keep it secret from
him.” Archie had always been in on everything that was happening in our lives.

“Maybe we better hold off on the visits for a while and send lots of letters instead,” I suggested.

She nodded. “He'll understand, knowing how busy the shops get at this time of year, and how tough it is for us to get away. We'll get down there Thanksgiving week, and Christmas, for sure.” Archie had been sent to a treatment center that was nearly two hours away by car.

“Yes we will, for sure. The more he feels our love and faith in him, the better for his healing. It'd be great if he gets released to outpatient therapy in a few months.”

Pinky nodded. “ I miss seeing him almost every day, like before.”

“Me too. And thanks for going to the jail to visit Mrs. Ryland with me, Pink.”

“Sure. At least it sounds like they're trying to make her as comfortable as possible there.”

“Yes, that is a relief. So, any idea what time Erin's meeting will be over?”

“No, probably not late.”

“I'll call her tonight and give her the latest unbelievable news.”

“Okay, and I better get some baking done.” She pointed at my shop window. “You left your bathroom light on.”

I turned around to look for myself. There was a sliver of light spilling into the shop. “That's odd. I didn't use that bathroom; I used yours. I sure don't remember turning the light on.”

“Maybe some nosy customer did. You know, someone who wanted to see the place where Molly died.”

“I would have seen it was on when I turned off the overhead lights.”

“Erin said Molly might be haunting the place. Plus, you told me you saw her ghost.”

“Erin didn't say that exactly, and I did not see her ghost. It was a dream.”

“Are you going to go turn it off?”

“I suppose with the old electrical system in the shop I'd better.”

“You don't sound like you want to.”

“Well, it's not that I'm scared, but all that ghost talk is kind of unnerving.”

“Do you want me to go with you?”

“Sure, if you want to.”

“Want to? That's sort of an exaggeration. But you'd do the same for me, right?”

“Right.” I fished in my pocket and pulled out my keys. Pinky stayed close beside me when I opened the front door and threw on the light switch. As light replaced the darkness, it felt ten times safer going into the shop. I still walked slowly to the bathroom with my ears tuned for any unusual sound.

“Hello?” I called out for no good reason.

“Do you think a ghost is going to answer you?” Pinky whispered.

I gave her a small shove. “No more ghost talk.” We got to the bathroom, and I pulled the door open enough to see inside. Its creak gave me a start, and I made a mental note to grease the hinges in the morning. “See, no one here.” Yes, I breathed a sigh of relief.

We checked the storeroom and small office next.

“Do you think we should take a look around my shop?” Pinky said.

“If you want to.” I took one last glance in the bathroom then turned off the light and shut the door.

“I suppose we should.”

I picked up one of the heavier snow globes from a shelf to use as a weapon if the need arose. When we got to the archway, Pinky reached around the corner and turned on her shop lights. We walked through to the back, checking her back room and bathroom. No one hiding anywhere. Not that I'd thought there would be.

The light being on in Curio Finds was odd, but there could have been a short in the old electrical system. Except the switch had been flipped on. It wouldn't hurt to talk to my parents about having the system checked, anyway. We definitely did not want a fire.

“A last peek behind my counter and we're outta here,” Pinky whispered.

I followed her for the final search then replaced the snow globe we hadn't needed for defense purposes after all.

“I think we've had enough excitement for one day,” Pinky said.

“One very, very, very long day,” I said, thinking back to all that had happened since morning. It seemed like a week ago. “Yes, we have.” We closed up for the second time that evening. “Pinky, if I ask you something, will you promise not to laugh?”

She was on the driver's side of her car. “I promise to try not to.”

Typical Pinky. “This is going to sound silly, but do you mind giving me a ride to my car?”

She didn't laugh. “Of course I don't mind.” She hit the button on her door and unlocked the passenger side. “I don't blame you for not wanting to walk down the alley after dark. You never know who you might run into, now, do you?”

“You are right about that.” I'd had that very experience with a man the past month, and with all the scary things going on, I was definitely on edge. Pinky drove around the block to access the back lot and pulled up so close to my car, I could barely squeeze out without scratching her door.

“I'll make sure your car starts before I take off,” she said.

“Thanks, Pink.” My car roared to life at the turn of the key. I sat there for a minute, staring at the back of our shop, half expecting to see a light come on inside. I drove to my parents' house and let myself in. They were happy to see me, but not so with the news I shared: first what Molly's stepfather had done to her, and how she had stopped him. And then all the bad things that had triggered.

My parents were flabbergasted. “To think all that was going on right under our noses,” Mom said.

“Secrets, secrets, secrets. And not a one of them was the kind that should have been kept,” Dad added.

“But those are the secrets that people keep all the time. And that makes them all the worse as the years pass by,” I said.

Dad reached over and patted my hand. “You always were a bright little girl. And you grew into an even brighter young woman.”

“Thanks, Dad.”

Mom smiled. “I'd like to think you got it all from your mother's and my side, but you had a very smart father, too.” As my biological mother's sister, Mom talked often of her,
and of my father to a lesser extent. I was only five years old when they died, and I was welcomed into the Vanelli family, my aunt and uncle's household. Mom did her best to keep memories of Berta and Connor Brooks alive for all of us.

I was not done talking about the day's dramatic events. “And you're not going to believe this, but Clint arrested Emmy Anders for Molly's murder.”

“Mercy me, why?” Mom said.

“It started with her background. She was the number one suspect in her husband's death. He just happened to die from cyanide poisoning, too. Her real name is Emaline Andersohn.”

My dad scratched his head. “Now that name has a familiar ring to it. Emaline is not a name you hear every day.”

“I guess it was in the papers and on the news sometime in the last couple of years.”

“Sure, now I remember,” Dad said.

“Emmy is
that
woman?” Mom didn't sound convinced.

I nodded. “She admitted that's who she is, all right. And this is the part you can't repeat; the police found cyanide in her garage.”

“She is a churchgoing woman. I just don't know what to believe about all this,” Mom said.

“I haven't really processed it, that is for sure.”

“Land sakes,” Mom said. “I ordered flowers for Irene Ryland this afternoon, so I better call the florist first thing tomorrow to tell them to hold off on the delivery. We can't very well say to send them to the jail instead.”

“They don't let the inmates get flowers in there, anyway. Clint thinks they'll probably release Mrs. Ryland after she goes to court and the judge sees she's not much of a threat to society. But she'll have to go to trial eventually.”

“Cami, I don't know what to think about any of this,” Mom said.

“Me, either. Sorry to deliver all this bad news and run, but I should get going.”

Dad leaned close to my face and put his hand on mine. “Cami, if it turns out Emmy is some sort of serial killer, we're very grateful that she was stopped in her tracks and you weren't harmed in any way.”

A chill passed through me, raising goose bumps on my whole body. Was it possible Emmy Anders was not the kind little old lady she seemed to be and was actually a demented killer? If that was the case, she may have other victims the police had not yet linked her to.

Jiminy Cricket, I needed to rein in my overactive imagination, because my rational brain did not believe any of it. Emmy had been found not guilty of poisoning her husband, although it didn't look good for her when the police found cyanide in her garage. But there were many uses for the poison, right?