Snow Way Out (19 page)

Lauren leaned in toward her. “What is it?”

“Jerrell’s going to be buried tomorrow. I thought I’d be the only one there, but maybe his daughter should at least know about it, in case she’d want to be there to say a final good-bye.”

Lauren lowered her chin and concentrated on Pam. “So you want me to tell May so she can tell her daughter.”

“Yes.”

“Where and when is it?”

“Hillside Cemetery, at two o’clock tomorrow afternoon.”

Lauren’s lips formed an “ooh.” “It’s late notice, but I’ll call May right away and then the ball will be in her court.” Lauren reached for Pam’s hand and got a good grip on it that time. “And I’ll be there with you.”

“So will I. If it’s okay with you, Pam?” Did I really say that? Pinky and Erin would kill me if they knew. Not to mention what Mark and Clint would have to say about it.

More tears spilled out of Pam’s eyes and rolled down her cheeks. She pulled a paper napkin from the holder in the center of the table and blew her nose. “Lauren, I don’t think I’m up to going anywhere tonight. I’m not hungry and I feel a mess.”

Lauren stood and waited for Pam. “Not a problem. How about I come over to your house and we just hang out?”

Pam pushed herself up and nodded. She looked at me and her lips quivered. “Thank you.”

I gave her my best smile. “See you tomorrow.”

Before any of us had taken a step, the shop door’s bell dinged and in walked Erin, who stopped short when she saw the three of us standing there. “What’s going on?”

Erin and Pam exchanged dirty looks until Lauren grabbed her sister’s hand and pulled her toward the door. “We were just leaving.”

“What were they doing here, really?” Erin asked after the door closed behind them.

“It’s a long story, but first Pam stopped by, then her sister joined her.”

“Pam was crying.”

“I think she’s done that a lot this past week.”

“I know you’re about to close up, but I had a message from Clint, and when I called him back just now he asked if—since I was here—he could stop by to ask me about something.”

That answered one of my burning questions: Clint had not yet spoken to Erin.

I nodded. “Did you go somewhere after school today, Erin?”

“Yeah, I kind of forgot about it, or I would have told you guys. We had a baby shower for one of the teachers. She won’t be going on leave until sometime around Christmas, but we thought we’d do it now before things get crazy with the holidays.”

Clint came in with his photo file. “Hi, Erin. Camryn.” He glanced around the empty coffee shop. “Not overly wild in here.”

“This is as busy as I like it at closing time. People feel pressured to leave when I turn the Open sign to the Closed side, and I don’t like making them uncomfortable.”

“I suppose.”

“As long as we don’t have another Friday night like the last one,” Erin said.

We all agreed on that.

“Erin, I’ll get straight to the point of why we’re here. I understand you have a set of Sharpcut knives.”

Erin gave her head a little shake and her shoulders a shrug. “As a matter of fact, I do. But what does—” She stopped when the “why” part of the question dawned on her. My own heart beat a little harder wondering how Erin was feeling and how she would react to Clint’s questions.

Clint laid his folder on the counter and opened it, revealing the knife photo inside. He picked it up and handed it to Erin, who looked at it but didn’t take it from him. She nodded. “It looks like mine, except mine had a little burn mark from my gas stove.”

“You said ‘had.’”

“I haven’t seen it for a while. It just disappeared. I didn’t have much use for that size knife with the little cooking I do for myself. I use the paring knife, mostly. Pinky was looking for it one time she was there and wanted to cut a muffin but she couldn’t find it.”

Clint studied her. “Any idea how long it’s been missing?”

“I really don’t. As far as I knew, it was in my drawer with the rest of the knives.”

“Days, weeks, months?”

Erin shrugged. “It could be years. I have no clue. My mother left most of hers when she moved so I have tons I never use.”

Clint reached over and picked a photo from the bottom of the pile. “That burn mark. Did it resemble this? It’s the reverse side of the same knife.” He held it up so we could both look at it. Erin teetered a bit and I put my arm around her waist to steady her.

“It looks just like my knife. But how? How . . .”

I guided Erin onto a counter stool and Clint picked up the folder, replaced the pictures, and closed it. He pulled out a small memo pad and pen and set them on the counter in front of Erin. “When was it that Pinky was looking for that knife?”

Erin shook her head. “Maybe three or four weeks ago.”

“Then why don’t you write down the names of everyone who’s been in your house in the last month or so. We’ll start from there.”

Erin narrowed her eyes at Clint. “Really? Okay, well, give me a minute.”

The thought that Erin’s knife had disappeared at some point and ended up being used in a murder distressed me, to say the least. She couldn’t have known it was her knife before she saw the picture of the little burn mark, could she?

“I’ll go lock up my shop,” I said.

“We’re keeping you,” Clint said.

I waved my hand. “Not at all. It takes a while to ring out the cash register and take care of all the little last-minute details.” I left them to deal with their official business while I went about my own, still thinking about how it could be that my friend was indirectly involved in Jerrell Powers’s death. What a thing for her to deal with. The man who had broken into her house had ended up stabbed with her very own knife. A very strange coincidence, but things like that popped up in News of the Weird every day.

I dawdled, pretending to be doing any number of actual closing-up-shop activities, especially when Clint wandered away from Erin’s side to peer into my shop. That was when I disappeared into the back room for a very long six minutes. I finished with everything I could think of to do then returned to the coffee shop. Erin was still hard at it, poking the pen into the paper as she thought, and then adding another name to the list. She looked like a student taking a complex test.

I checked the coffee and hot water machines then cleared and wiped off the tables as quietly as possible. It was evident Clint was a man used to waiting, and it occurred to me that was part of his job: hurry up and wait.

“That’s all I can think of. My friends, work friends, family.” Erin tapped the pen against the side of her head. “I’m trying to remember if there have been any repair people, but no, not in the last month. So I guess that’s it.” She slid the paper and pen to her right, toward Clint.

Clint read over the names. “Looks like I know most of the folks. Do you have phone numbers for your school friends?” He handed it back to Erin.

Erin pulled out her cell phone. “Give me a minute; they’re in my contacts.” She worked for a while, looking up numbers then jotting them under the names they belonged with. When she finished she handed the list back to Clint. “Anything else?” she asked.

Clint shook his head. “Not for right now. It looks like I got plenty to keep me busy.” He headed to the door. “Call me if you think of anyone else, Erin.”

“I will.”

We said our good-byes and he left.

“Cami, I almost fainted when I realized my missing knife had ended up in Jerrell Powers’s back. What are the chances?”

I had wondered the same thing myself. “Do you want to get a bite to eat?”

“Thanks, but it has been such a long week, I just want to go home, sit on the couch with a bowl of popcorn and a good book, and basically vegetate until bedtime.”

“That sounds very tempting. I think I’ll go home and do the same thing.”

“So you’re not going to tell me what Pamela and her sister were doing here.”

“It was no big deal, really. Lauren had given some of Jerrell’s things to May without Pam’s knowledge and she was upset.”

“So they came here to hash it out?”

I didn’t want to tell Erin I was spying on Pamela’s house. “Pam stopped by first, then Lauren came to town to surprise her and found out she was here. Everything’s fine.”

“If you say so. The less I have to do with Pamela, the less I will be reminded of Jerrell Powers and his evil ways.”

T
here seemed to be no real rhyme or reason to retail sales, and Saturday was an unusually busy morning. People not only browsed, they bought. As morning turned into afternoon, I wondered if I’d be able to break away for Jerrell Powers’s burial service. I considered asking Dad to cover for me, but would never be able to explain why I needed his help. Pinky’s business was slower than mine, and at 1:50 I asked if it’d be all right with her if I ran an errand.

“You go right ahead. As long as you’re not going to McDonald’s for a cup of coffee.”

I giggled. “I would never tell you if I did.”

Pinky snapped her towel and told me to take off. I had worn a longish black tweed skirt and boots, and with my medium-weight black coat, and the hat and gloves I’d left in my car, I figured I’d be warm enough at the cemetery. I drove the half mile west of town and arrived with only a minute to spare. My car was the fourth one in line when I parked behind an SUV.

It felt unreal joining the small group—Pamela, Lauren, a man wearing a clerical collar and holding a Bible, and another man dressed in black from head to toe, who I presumed was from the funeral home. Missing were May and her daughter, which did not surprise me. Pam gave me a hug and told me how glad she was I had come. And in some ironic way, it seemed fitting, since I was the one who’d found his body, I should be there.

The minister was brief, giving Pam some words of encouragement. Then Pam said a few things before she broke down. The minister was reading the committal words, “Ashes to ashes, dust to dust,” when I noticed something move from behind a tree forty or so feet away. First a hand reached around the side of the tree, and then a man’s head poked out from behind it. He was tall and had on a black stocking cap and sunglasses. Were my eyes playing tricks on me or was it the lanky guy? I looked around for a bicycle, but didn’t spot one.

The last thing I wanted to do was create a scene, so I tried to calculate how much longer the minister would be, and if the man behind the tree would take off before he’d finished. When he caught me looking at him, he jerked his head back behind the tree. What in the world was going on with that man? It was getting creepier by the day. It was one thing to be skulking around town, and another to be hiding behind a tree watching a few people gathered around a coffin at a cemetery on a breezy Saturday afternoon in October.

I missed what the minister said until I heard, “Amen.” Apparently the lanky guy heard it, too, and surmised it was his cue to take off. At the risk of being rude, I said, “Excuse me,” and went jogging toward him, at a snail’s pace compared to his sprint. My skirt and boots may have slowed me down a bit, but even if I had been wearing athletic wear, like he was, it wouldn’t have made much difference.

“Hey, come back here! I need to talk to you.” But he didn’t slow down or even turn around to see who was yelling at him. He dipped behind another gigantic oak tree some fifty or sixty yards ahead then came out riding his bike and headed across the cemetery lawn until he hit the gravel drive that led to a larger gravel rural road.

I’d left my cell phone in the car and jogged back to get it to dial for help, then decided it was best to follow the guy to see where he went rather than call Brooks Landing PD. I looked over at the four burial attendees, who all had their mouths open with various looks of surprise on their faces. It would have been comical under different circumstances, and I wasn’t sure how to explain what I was doing, or why, so I called out, “Sorry, I’ll be back.”

I climbed into my car and flew out of the graveyard as if I were being chased by ghosts. It was more like I was in search of someone who acted like a spy or some sort of secret agent. Maybe that was it. Was I being followed after all? As I drove down the county road, I realized that didn’t make sense. I had arrived at the cemetery with only a minute before the service was to start. He would have had to be very close behind me to get to where he was standing a few minutes later. It was remotely possible he just happened to be at the rural cemetery. But why was he hiding behind a tree? That was one of the key questions in the whole matter.

It seemed he had disappeared again. Where in heaven’s name had he gone to this time? I passed cornfields that still had crops and some pastures with hills and valleys and trees, but no obvious hiding places. The man may have lived in the immediate area, for all I knew, and happened to be riding by when he spotted the gathering in the cemetery and stopped to check it out. Was it all one big twist of fate? I didn’t believe that for a minute, but couldn’t imagine what was really going on with him and his random appearances. Golly.

I called the police department and relayed what had happened, and the woman on the other end told me she’d alert the on-duty officers. I thanked her then drove to the next driveway, turned around, and went back to the group who was waiting at Jerrell Powers’s grave.

The whole thing was too crazy to share with the four of them, so I simply said, “I thought it was an old friend of mine, but it turns out it wasn’t.” Pam was the only one who nodded. It was clear from her grief-struck, tearstained face that she had other things on her mind than trying to process my wacky behavior.

• • • • • • • • • • • •

W
hen I got back to the shops, I managed to avoid telling Pinky where I’d been for over thirty minutes. I quietly made a phone call at three o’clock to the Brooks Landing Police Department and asked if they’d had any luck tracking down the tall man whose identity was unknown. It was Mark’s weekend off and I knew he had gone up north that morning for some end-of-season trout fishing with a buddy. I asked if Clint was available. The same woman I’d met, Margaret, said he was out on a call and she’d have him call me back. “That’s all right. I can talk to him Monday,” I told her.

My parents had invited me over for a light supper—just the three of us—and I was relieved when it was finally quitting time.

“Want to do something tonight?” Pinky asked.

“I’m Mom’s and Dad’s entertainment for the evening. At least that’s the way Dad put it when he asked me over.”

“You’re lucky to have them. You know that, don’t you?”

“Of course. How about you, what are your plans?”

“Nothing, really. I may stop by Erin’s on the way home.”

I slapped my side. “Dang, I meant to call her today. After her shock last night, I’m surprised she didn’t stop in to talk about her knife being the you-know-what.”

Pinky nodded. “Erin did call earlier. It must have been when you were shopping.” I don’t know how she had arrived at that conclusion, but I didn’t correct her.

“How is she doing, anyhow?”

Pinky hitched a shoulder up and down. “You know Erin. Sometimes she sounds sort of flip about things when she doesn’t really mean to be.”

“Yeah, she gets defensive. Like if she admits to feeling bad about something, she might appear to be weak. We know that under that tough exterior lies a soft heart.”

“Of gold,” Pinky added. “So give me a call if you get done early at your parents’ house and want to get together.”

“Will do. Tell Erin to hang in there.”

“Okeydokey.”

• • • • • • • • • • • •

I
t was a treat walking into my parents’ house, the one I grew up in, and smelling the tantalizing aroma of the marinara sauce simmering on the stove. Their definition of “light supper” was not the same as mine. I’d say a salad was more on the light side, but I loved pasta and garlic bread, so who was I to argue?

It was good to share a meal with Mom and Dad. Just the three of us. Dad was less animated, and more influenced by Mom’s calming presence.

“Cami, our friends have been calling us since that article Sandy wrote up about you and the whole murder case came out,” Mom said.

I had avoided reading it, except what Clint had pointed out when he’d stopped me. “Sorry to bring you into all that. You’ve got enough going on.”

Dad reached over and put his hand on mine. “Don’t you worry your pretty little self about that. We get by just fine. Right, Mother?”

Mom gave him her sweet, loving smile, the one I loved best. “Right, Father.”

Dad got up from the dining room table and walked into the living room. He came back a minute later with a copy of the local newspaper. “What concerns us most is how you’re doing. According to this, it sounds like you’re being looked at by the police.” He set the paper on the table next to me. Both Jerrell Powers’s and Benjamin Arnold’s mug shots were included in the article.

I picked it up, and for the first time was able to study the image of the man I had found dead on a park bench. “That is uncanny.”

“What is?” Mom asked.

I hadn’t realized I’d said the words out loud. “Um, well, um . . . I’ve seen a man around town who looks a lot like Jerrell Powers, but I know for sure it can’t be him.”

“Not everyone looks like his picture, you know. If you’d take a look at my driver’s license, you’d know what I’m talking about.”

It broke the moment and I smiled. “Dad, ninety-nine percent of people do not look like their driver’s license photo.”

“Well, your mother is in the one percent who does.” He ran his hand from her cheek to under her chin and held it. “How could this beauty look bad in any picture?”

He had a point. Mom grabbed his hand and squeezed. “Flattery will get you just about anywhere, as you well know, Ed, but let’s not go overboard.”

They held hands and snickered. I stood up and started clearing the dishes.

“We’ll do that,” Mom said.

“You cooked. Cleaning up is the least I can do.” Plus it would give me some thinking time.

After I’d finished the dishes, I found the newspaper again, which Dad had moved back to the living room, and took another look at Jerrell Powers’s photo. “Can I borrow your paper? I haven’t read the article yet.”

Dad’s eyebrows drew together. “You haven’t? Sure, go ahead and take it.”

I hugged Dad first then Mom. “Thanks for the wonderful meal.”

“Anytime, sweetie. Come again soon,” Mom said.

It was early, but I wanted to go home more than I wanted to get together with my friends. I needed to process why the lanky guy looked so much like Jerrell Powers, and I was afraid I’d spill the beans about being at his burial and chasing after a mystery man who had been hiding behind a tree at the cemetery. I would tell Pinky and Erin eventually, of course, but Erin especially did not need to hear about it until things settled down.

I had taken to doing a visual search of all the side streets whenever I drove and probably looked like a big chicken or turkey with my head bobbing in and out as I did so. I couldn’t help myself; I had become obsessed with a lanky guy who was almost as fast on foot as he was on a bicycle.

After I parked in my garage, I walked to the house still on guard. I’d started carrying Mace when I went on walks during my Washington, D.C., days. Since my park adventure, and not knowing who had killed Jerrell Powers, I’d kept it handy in my pocket in case I found myself in a situation with potential danger. Even though I saw no sign of anybody in the alley or by my house, I pulled it out of my pocket so I was armed and ready.

I let myself in the back door as the little bird in the clock cuckooed eight times. It struck me that that was what had happened to me: I’d gone completely cuckoo in one short—make that long—week. I took off my coat and hung it in the front closet then found the newspaper in my large handbag. I carried it to the kitchen table and turned on the swag light that hung low over the center of it.

I looked from Jerrell Powers’s mug shot to Benjamin Arnold’s. They shared similar-looking features, like the guys at the halfway house had said: long, straight nose and high cheekbones. Jerrell looked friendlier than Benjamin, whose eyes were somewhat squinted and lips were pursed. Jerrell’s hair was dark and cut fairly short. Benjamin’s was reddish auburn, long and scraggly. Jerrell had a lean face; Benjamin’s was fuller. I stared at the photos for a minute then went in search of scissors and a fine-line Sharpie pen. I found them in my office desk drawer.

Back at the table, I cut out both pictures and laid them on the table. I took the Sharpie and drew a pair of Buddy Holly–style glasses on Jerrell Powers. “Oh, my gosh, he could be the lanky guy.” I picked my cell phone out of my pocket, found Pamela Hemley’s number in the contacts, and called her.

“Hello?” Pam sounded wary, but at least she’d answered.

“Pam, it’s Camryn. How are you holding up?”

“I’ll be okay. Lauren’s staying overnight tonight, so that’ll help.”

“Good. It was a nice service today.”

“It was small, but Jerrell didn’t have many friends and only one daughter. Lauren invited May, but I don’t know if she told her daughter or not.”

“What about Jerrell’s parents, or other family?”

“He was an only child. His parents adopted him when they were older, and they were both dead before I met him.”

“No aunts, uncles, cousins?”

“Not that I know of. I guess I should have found that out so I could let them know about what happened—” Pam stopped talking when the sobs started.