Single Elimination: A Cozy Mystery (Brenna Battle Book 4) (6 page)

“Is someone on the stairs?” Blythe asked.

I listened as I took another bite. I nodded. Definitely someone running up our steps. This was a small town, but given everything that had happened since we came to Bonney Bay, we’d kept our habit of bolting the door.

The pounding feet stopped and the banging on the door began. Blythe and I both paused mid-bite.
 

I got up and ran to the door just as Sammi’s voice called from the other side, “It’s me! Let me in. I got it!”

I unbolted and opened the door. “You got what?”

Sammi’s cheeks were all aglow with the run up the stairs to our little apartment above the dojo—and with triumph.

“The interview with Bernard Smith!”

“Okay.” From the table, Blythe waved her in. “Come inside and tell us about it while we eat.”

“While you eat! I thought you guys would be excited.”

I locked the door behind her. “We are. But we’re also starving and we only have about a forty-five minute window to refuel before the peewee class starts.”

“Well, while you two were in here making food, I was out there sleuthing.” Sammi shook her bangs back, along with the rest of her black hair.

“Yes, I’m sure you were pounding the pavement, working like a dog…”

“Brenna.” Blythe held her palm up. “Sammi, come sit down.”

Sammi pulled a chair up to the table and I dove back into my spaghetti.

“Just tell us what Bernard said. No conjecture,” I directed her.

“Con-what?”

“Don’t guess,” Blythe explained. “Think very carefully. Try to remember exactly what he said.”

“Oh, don’t worry about that. I don’t have to remember anything.” Sammi held up her phone. “I recorded the whole thing, and Bernard didn’t have a clue.”

“He didn’t have a clue about what?”

“Me recording him. Sheesh.”

Blythe and I exchanged looks. Sammi had recorded Bernard without his permission.

What calamity humankind had unleashed on the world, giving unsupervised eleven-year-olds these magical devices—cameras, recorders, mini computers capable of uploading all sorts of underdeveloped thoughts and immature images onto a worldwide broadcasting network!

Sammi grabbed a piece of garlic bread from the plate in the middle of the table. “What? What’s the matter?”

I resisted the urge to slap the back of her hand and make her drop the bread. Wasn’t she the one who’d just denigrated us for indulging in such luxuries as dinner?

“I’m pretty sure it’s illegal to record a conversation without someone’s knowledge,” Blythe said.

I just put my head in my hands. One of these days, I was going down for contributing to the delinquency of a minor. It was only a matter of time.

Sammi gnawed at the garlic bread. “Oops. Well, I already did it. Do you want to hear it or not?”

“Just play it,” I grumbled. I snatched the garlic bread plate and pulled it close to me.

“So, Bernard is part of the Lego club that meets at the library every Monday. I caught him on his way out.”

Blythe said, “Sammi, where were you when you asked him those questions? Did anyone see you?”

“Of course not. We went around the side of the library, by where the staff parks.”

“How’d you get him to talk?”

“Easy. I told him I had evidence that he was near the scene of the crime when Mrs. Hermiston was murdered. I told him I’m investigating the crime and that if he had any information that could help me solve it, I’d give him full credit when my blockbuster exposé is published.”

“I don’t know if I should be impressed that you know what an exposé is, or disturbed that you probably just corrupted a witness,” I said. “No, I think I’m going to have to go with disturbed.”

“Of course I know what an exposé is. It came up when I was searching investigating and interviewing techniques. I wasn’t about to go into this unprepared. I read everything I could find. And what do you mean, corrupted?”

“Sammi, you made him think he has something to gain by saying he saw something,” Blythe tried to explain gently.

“So?”

“So don’t you think he might be tempted to make it up?”

“Well sure, but he might also be tempted to tell me everything he knows, which is exactly what he did. Just listen.”

Sammi pressed play, and we listened to her voice saying, “So, you were sitting under the tree reading a book—”

“Not just any book,” Bernard snapped. “Legend Land Dragons number five.”

“Oh-kay.”

“I was just getting to the good part, where Goofald the Silver Knight turns into a dragon, and I heard these people talking.”

“Describe the people.”

“A couple of people.”

I could almost see Bernard shrugging.

“Male, female?”

I had to hand it to Sammi, she almost sounded professional. I mean, she hadn’t even gotten distracted and gone of on a tangent about that Goofy character’s name. Not that I would’ve been tempted to do that…

“A man and a woman. The lady was wearing a skirt and a suit jacket. I thought that was a weird thing to wear to the beach. They weren’t really on the beach, they were on the grass, but I still thought it was weird.”

“Where on the grass were these people?”

“Right behind the bathroom, I guess. I thought that was a weird place to talk. Especially for an old lady in a skirt and nice shoes.”

“Could you see who she was talking to?”

“Not really, but I’m sure it was a guy.”

“Did he sound like an old guy? A young guy?”

Good. So far Sammi was giving him all the follow-up questions I’d written down for her.

“Old guys sound different than young guys?” Bernard said.

“Well, yeah.”

I could tell from Sammi’s tone on the recording that she wasn’t sure that was true, either. Great. To these kids, we were all old. We all sounded the same.

“So?” Sammi said on the recording.

“I don’t know. But he sure sounded mad. Crazy mad.”

“What was he mad about?”

“I don’t know. He just kept saying, ‘you can’t do this.’”

“And then?”

“And then I left. They were getting really loud. Well, the man was, anyway. I couldn’t hear the lady, but I know she must’ve been saying something, for him to keep talking back at her like that.”

“There you go. Bernard saw Mrs. Hermiston arguing with her killer.”

“We don’t know that,” Blythe said. “Just because they were arguing, doesn’t mean he’s the killer.”

Blythe knew I’d seen Dina arguing with Gunter Hatton, but Sammi didn’t. I gave my head a little shake. Gunter Hatton wasn’t the man Bernard had seen. Not only did he have that alibi, but the location was different, and I hadn’t heard him say those words. Unless there’d been a second argument…

“Look, Sammi, you did a pretty good job. I’m just not so sure Bernard was a good witness. All we found out from him is that the killer was a man. We eliminated a little over half the adult population of Bonney Bay—if the man she argued with behind the bathroom was the person who killed her.”

Sammi said, “
Behind the bathroom.
That’s where she was killed. What are the chances someone else killed her exactly where she was arguing with that guy?”

I ignored that and said, “Bernard noticed Mrs. Hermiston’s shoes. I wonder if he saw what kind of shoes the man she argued with was wearing.”

“I guess I could go back and ask him.”

“We really should turn this in to the police,” Blythe said. “They’re the experts at interviewing witnesses.”

I turned to Sammi. “Did you ask Bernard if the police had already talked to him?”

“I didn’t ask him, but he told me he already told them everything.”

Great. So Bernard was already one of the many leads Bonney Bay PD was sifting through.

“Well then, I guess there’s no need to tell them we encouraged a child to make an illegal recording.” I took another bite of spaghetti to console myself.

“I guess not,” Blythe conceded. “Why do I feel like we’re at a dead end?”

“Really?” Sammi dropped her hands to her sides. “I did that for nothing?”

“No, you just helped us eliminate Bernard as someone we need to pursue. And maybe something he said will lead us in the right direction, once we have some time to think on it.”

“Or once we have more evidence.” I attempted to sound optimistic, for Sammi’s sake. “Something that, combined with this, adds up to the solution.” Sammi didn’t perk up much. I handed her another piece of garlic bread. “Here.”

“Well, we do know something new, Sammi. There was an argument. That says a lot about motive.”

“A crime of passion.” Just as I’d thought. “It also adds weight to the theory that it wasn’t premeditated, at least not very far in advance.” Of course, Sammi didn’t know about the murder weapon, which was another piece of evidence in favor of spontaneity.
 

Sammi said, “So, what do we do next?”

We?
I wanted to say.
Sorry, kid, but you are not part of the “we
.” “I have no idea,” I said instead. “Thanks for your help, Sammi.”

I didn’t miss the little spark those words ignited in my young friend. I wondered when the last time was that her mother had said something like that. For Sammi, it wasn’t just that hearing words of praise from her Sensei, from an adult who wasn’t her parent, meant something special; she was looking for someone to fill in the gaps her mother—and, to be fair, her absent father, whom I’d never heard a peep about—had left.

Over the summer, she’d briefly toyed with filling that gap with an older boy. I’d convinced that little twerp of a boy that messing with Sammi would be a very, very bad idea, and Blythe had convinced Sammi that she should be focused on her own goals. Sammi had decided she wanted to be a detective, and to my surprise, she’d stuck with her new passion for learning about crime solving. The last thing I wanted to do was discourage her from pursuing her goal. Well, actually the last thing I wanted to do was put her in harm’s way. Unfortunately for Sammi, keeping her safe and out of trouble could very well mean frustrating her attempts to become a super sleuth.

9

I found Helen Rolf, the librarian and editor of the
Bonney Bay Blaster
, in the Science Fiction aisle of Bonney Bay’s red-brick library. It was Tuesday afternoon, and there had still been no updates published on the murder. Blythe was handling lunch with our campers while I hurried over to try to squeeze some information out of Helen. Helen’s calf-length skirt swished as she briskly pushed a cart of books that needed re-shelved.

“Hi, Helen.”

“Hello, Brenna,” she said eagerly. She quickly slid a book into place, then whispered, “Do you have something for me?”

I knew exactly what she meant. News. A tip. Something she could publish in the
Blaster
.

I frowned. “I was hoping you had something for me. That you could give me an idea what you’re working on. I’d keep it under wraps, of course.”

“Ach!” Helen’s native German came out. “Working on? I have nothing to work
with
! Do you mean to tell me you have uncovered nothing either?”

I just shook my head. “I thought maybe the delay in getting a story out was because you were onto something big.”

“I am onto nothing. The police say they have leads, but they will not say what they are. I know nothing about the nature of these leads.”

Will had told me they were up to their ears in leads, but no closer to solving the case. But maybe they were all non-leads. All things that could turn out to be something, or absolutely nothing. Maybe the problem was that none of these potential leads was any stronger than the others.

“That’s all I know, too. That the police have leads. Period.” I tried not to let that sting, the fact that I had an ‘in’ and yet I wasn’t
in
on any more than Helen Rolf was. But Will was just doing his job, following the rules. As much as it irritated me, I couldn’t blame him.

“Did you get a chance to talk to any of the people the police interviewed?” I asked.

“Yes, several of them. They were really shaken up. Everyone told me they didn’t have much to give the police, information-wise. Other than the political posturing and that unfortunate incident with the little girl getting hit with the soccer ball, everything was normal. So where these leads are coming from, I just don’t know.”

“Maybe they were anonymous calls to the station, evidence found at the scene, things like that. Did anyone say what kind of questions the police were asking?”

“I’ve been told the police asked everyone if any of their belongings were missing. But the only thing was a child’s sandal, a baseball cap, and the meat thermometer the cooks were using for the salmon. That is seriously all I have to report. And I will look like a fool when it all turns up in the lost-and-found at Town Hall tomorrow.”

“Whose hat was missing?”

“Randy Wagner’s. And the thermometer was David Marillo’s.”

Just when had David Marillo noticed it was gone? Had he noticed anything else? Something that might indicate who took it?

I made my face match Helen’s frustration and disappointment, in order to disguise my excitement at having just a bit more information about the meat thermometer. “I can’t believe that’s all you have to go on. Let’s hope the police have more.”

Now I needed to have a little chat with David Marillo about that missing meat thermometer.

I checked the time, then sped away from the library and drove up to one of the Fill-Up’s pumps even though my tank was three-quarters full. David Marillo, one of the men who’d manned the grills for the Salmon Bake, was the owner and operator of Bonney Bay’s only gas station. The Fill-Up boasted two gorgeous red, antique pumps. They had the classic big, circular decorative tops with the scrolly writing that said
gasoline
. It was amazing, really, how people in decades past could make even something as smelly, as functional, as ordinary as gasoline, beautiful. David was an antique collector and a member of Bonney Bay’s Historical Society. Behind the gas station, he had a neatly painted, three-car garage. I remembered Will telling me that David kept his collection there and had a little workshop where he restored antiques in his spare time.