Death of a Six-Foot Teddy Bear (19 page)

“For water?” She patted her empty pocket.

He shrugged. “This is the desert.”

Ginger turned back around. A man who had been hidden in a corner booth made his way toward the stairs that led to the dressing rooms.
Eureka
. Simpson had escaped while she had her attention on the gold-plated water. She pushed the bottled water back toward the bartender. “Think I’ll pass.”

She bolted toward the curtain, trying to pad softly. She had a feeling, though, that even a loud explosion wouldn’t draw this audience’s attention away from the insomnia-producing performance.

Ginger parted the curtains and dashed up the four stairs. She stepped into the dressing room corridor just as the outside door shut. She wasn’t about to lose him after all that biking. She bolted toward the door. A woman in a leotard and wearing the yellow and black snake for an accessory stepped out of the dressing room, blocking her escape.

“There you are!” she accused.

Ginger looked behind her. No one else was in the hallway. “I’m sorry, I think you have me mistaken—”

“Where are the mice? You were supposed to be here half an hour ago.”

“I’m sorry, but I—” Ginger tried to step to one side, only to be greeted with a face Rill of snake. She jumped back, touching a flat hand to her thudding heart.

“Jeremy will have to go on without his dinner. You know, when I signed the contract for this gig, they said that meals would be part of the deal for all of the performers. It’s not like I can just go down to the buffet and get Jeremy some shrimp on a stick.” The woman put the snake’s head close to her face and kissed him while he flicked his tongue at her.

Ginger angled her head to stare at the door Mr. Simpson had just gone through. “Please, I am not the mouse-supply lady.” She stepped to one side, careful to keep her distance from the snake.

The woman stomped her foot. “They said an older woman would be coming from the pet store with Jeremy’s lunch.” She checked her watch. “I have to go on in ten minutes.”

Cutting a wide circle around the snake, Ginger slipped past the woman. “I’m real sorry your snake has an empty stomach, but I gotta run.”

Ginger pushed the back door open. The bike and Mr. Simpson were gone. She glanced up and down the empty street. Her chest and legs ached. She’d had just about enough of playing detective. Time to make nice with the professionals.

“Frankenstein has entered
the building.”

Even through her thick fake hair, Xabier’s breath tickled Kindra’s ear. She smoothed the skirt of her silky dress. Who would have thought that a dark wig and red lipstick could turn her into a different person? “Are you sure?”

They’d chosen the two vinyl chairs in the lobby that provided them with a view of the front desk and elevator. Xabier tugged on his tie and nodded. He looked cute in a suit.

“Now what?”

He spoke without moving his lips. “Lets just watch him.”

Frankenstein scanned the lobby, almost as if he sensed someone was watching him. Kindra’s breath caught when his gaze rested on them. Xabier shifted in his chair so his face was more toward her than Frankenstein. “Remember, he’s looking for a guy by himself.” He tugged on his shirt cuffs. “Just don’t do anything to alarm him, slow moves. We don’t want him to look at us too closely.”

Frankenstein stomped toward the front desk. His nickname suited him almost too well. Those clunky boots had to be at least a size fourteen. He probably put the bolts in his neck when he went to bed.

“He’s talking to Tiffany.”

Vinyl squeaked when Xabier swiveled slightly in his chair. “Hmm. He likes her. When you lean toward someone like that, it indicates attraction.” He shifted his weight so he was closer to Kindra.

“You should know.” Kindra sunk down in her chair, enjoying Xabier’s proximity and the memory of the kiss. Excitement pulsed through her. Before tonight, her idea of daring was to use two colors of highlighter to mark her calculus book. “Tiffany just handed him a skeleton key.”

“You were right. He is staying in the hotel.” He patted her knee. “Smart girl.”

Frankenstein thundered across the lobby toward the elevator.

Xabier slipped his hand in Kindra’s. “Come on. Lets stalk the stalker.” He placed fingers over his lips. “Just be cool.”

Xabier seemed to be some kind of an adrenaline junkie. By the time they had arrived at the closed elevator doors, an older couple stood beside Frankenstein. The doors slid open. The couple stepped in, followed by Frankenstein. Xabier pulled Kindra through as the doors closed.

The older woman chimed. “Seven. Could you push seven?”

The faint scent of rose water saturated the tiny space.

Frankenstein’s meaty finger trailed down the panel. He pressed the seven and then the eight. He angled his head toward Kindra and Xabier. Kindra’s toes curled in her Audrey Hepburn flats. Her internal alarm system flashed bright red.
Warning. Danger. Get out
. She managed a gurgling sound.

Xabier glanced at the elevator board. “We’re going up to eight too.”

He sounded so casual, so in control.

Frankenstein arched a bushy brow and then turned his attention to the elevator doors. His sports jacket stretched tight against his back, threatening to rip the center seam at any moment. Xabier gave Kindra’s hand a squeeze. She focused on the numbers. Two. Three. Four.
Come on, five
.

The elevator jarred to a stop.

“Huh,” said Frankenstein.

“Is it broken?” The older woman stepped toward the panel.

He pushed several buttons. “I’m sure it’s nuthin.”

Tension threaded through the elevator. The speed of Frankenstein’s button pushing increased. “Hmm.”

As if the moment had been choreographed, they all tilted their heads and stared up at the immobile numbers.

Perspiration trickled from underneath Kindra’s dark wig, down her temple.

Frankenstein turned his back to the doors. “We are in a pickle.”

Ginger drove through downtown Calamity until she approached the police station. Just like Detective Mallory had described it over the phone, the station resembled a miniature White House with several dome structures on either side of it.

This rental car didn’t make revving motor noises like her Pontiac back in Montana. She missed her old car and her cute little blue house with the porch swing … and life before the police thought she was a criminal. Hopefully, she’d be able to change that last part with this conversation.

Ginger parked the car and stepped out. She took several deep breaths to calm the nerves that turned her stomach into a swelling tsunami. She strode up the stairs. After one more deep breath, she pushed the door open and stepped into the police station. She was in some kind of lobby or waiting area complete with new couches and several closed doors, one of which was designated as belonging to the county attorney. A woman in a suit that screamed
lawyer
sat on one of the couches, reading through a stack of papers. Several other people milled through, disappearing down hallways and stairs and through doors. Ginger walked over to the building directory. Mallory had told her that her office was on the third floor.

A slender, dark-haired woman approached Ginger. “Are you Ginger Salinski?”

Ginger nodded.

“Detective Mallory sent me to escort you in.” She touched the ID badge around her neck. “Kind of hard to get around here unless you’re official.”

The woman led her toward the elevator. They rode up in silence. The number three lighted up, causing Ginger’s arm muscles to tense. The doors slid open.

“Just down the hall. Hope it goes okay.”

Did she look that nervous?

The dark-haired woman waved right before the elevator doors closed.

Each door was labeled with a different detectives name. The third door belonged to Mallory.

Mallory opened the door just as Ginger’s fist touched the wood. The detective must be off duty. Even in the casual gray sweats and with her auburn hair sloppily pulled up in a scrunchie, the detective came across as imposing and in control. She wasn’t that much taller than Ginger. Maybe it was the perfect posture.

Mallory bent her head. “Mrs. Salinski. I’m sorry I didn’t answer your first call. We got a little busy at the hotel.”

Ginger tugged at the neckline of her shirt. “Thank you for seeing me on such short notice.” The churning in her stomach hadn’t subsided, and now her neck warmed. People would be able to fry eggs on her forehead before this conversation was over.
The Ginger Grill open for business
.

“This case is taking a lot of my time. Just like you, I am anxious for it to be wrapped up.” Mallory’s eyes closed momentarily as she massaged her shoulder.

She’s not the enemy. She’s human just like me … and weary of all this
.

Mallory stepped to one side so Ginger could come in. She led her into a sparse office.

No papers cluttered the desk. The pencils in
The Andy Griffith Show
canister were all sharpened and the same length. The computer was on but turned so the screen was not visible.

A lone photo of a younger Mallory in uniform rested on the shelf, no pictures of a smiling family at a lake or in Mickey Mouse hats posing with Snow White.

Ginger rubbed the knuckle of her index finger. Seeing the human side of the detective didn’t make this any easier.

“Can I get you something to drink?” Mallory tilted her head in the direction of a small refrigerator but didn’t move toward it, indicating she already knew what Ginger’s answer would be.

Ginger adjusted the shoulder strap of the cheap replacement purse she’d purchased. This wasn’t a social visit, and they both knew it. “No, thank you.” Her throat was drier than the MREs she bought for Earl’s hunting trips. “Did you catch Mr. Simpson?”

“No, but we searched his hotel room. No jewels.” She picked up a pencil and rolled it between her flat hands. “If he is on a bicycle, like you said, he can’t get far. All the patrol officers have been alerted.” Mallory set the pencil down and crossed her arms. “Were watching the hotel.”

She didn’t like the way Mallory punched the words
like you said
. Despite the offer of refreshments, the whole thing felt like a standoff at the O.K. Corral, two gunfighters staring at each other waiting for the other to blink. What did she have to do to win this woman over? “I’m not a criminal,” Ginger blurted.

“I never said you were.” Mallory stepped toward her desk. “I reserve judgment until all the evidence is in.” She placed the pencil back in the canister. “When we do catch Mr. Simpson, he’ll either confirm the story you told me over the phone or not.”

Now her heart was racing. She tried so hard to do the right thing, to be honest. “Mr. Simpson is the jewel thief, not me.”

“What is your association with Mr. Simpson?”

Let the gunfire begin
. “I had never seen Mr. Simpson before I came to the Wind-Up and his squirrel went missing.”

“When your husband said what time he had gotten into town, you looked at him like you didn’t believe him.”

That bullet went right into her heart. So that was when the suspicion seed had been planted. She paced four feet in one direction. Mallory was just doing her job. If Ginger were the detective, she probably would have drawn the same conclusion. Ginger slipped her purse off her shoulder and twisted the strap. “I know I saw Earl on the convention floor, and I know my husband is an honest man.” She turned and walked back toward Mallory. “I can’t answer your question.”

“If you could answer that question, I might be more inclined to believe that you were hit on the head by Simpson and sent down the river. If that really is why you can’t account for your whereabouts for nearly twenty-four hours.”

“I can find the people who helped me.” She had to admit, sent down a river and adopted by tent people ranked right up there with UFO abduction stories. Only her story was true. How was she going to convince Mallory? Ginger bent her neck and tapped her head with her fist. “I got this knot on my head. Is that evidence enough?”

Mallory’s eyes grew round, and Ginger thought she saw just a flicker of a smile.

The detective straightened her spine, placed her hands on her hips. “I’m sure we’ll get this all sorted out once Mr. Simpson is in custody.”

Mallory was still giving the official police line, but the silliness of Ginger suggesting a bump on her head would wrap up the case must have softened the detective somewhat. “I guess there’s nothing more I can say.”

Mallory nodded. “I would appreciate it if you and your husband would stick around.”

Ginger walked toward the door, but stopped. She needed to let Mallory know everything.
Do the right thing and God will work out the rest
. She’d driven across town to tell the whole truth. “When you do catch Mr. Simpson … He did hit me on the head and he is a thief, but I don’t think he killed Dustin Clydell.”

Mallory shook her head.

“A year ago in Montana, a dear friend of mine was murdered. I saw the eyes of her killer; I know that look. Mr. Simpson had two chances to end my life, and he didn’t take them.”

“We can’t let a suspect go based on the look in his eyes.”

“I just thought you should know. When he had me cornered in the camper, Mr. Simpson got real mad, but he acted like he didn’t know how to use a knife. And he could have killed me and put me in that boat instead of just knocking me out.”