The Iced Princess (24 page)

“I did. I called nine-one-one,” Irene told me.

“It looks like he got away,” a man in the crowd said.

“What did he do?” a woman asked.

“He stole something,” I said as I took Irene's arm and guided her away from the people and any further questions.

Two St. Paul Police officers were there a minute later, and Irene flagged them down. “What's the complaint?” the younger male officer asked.

Irene went through the whole litany of who Troy Ryland was and the crimes he'd committed. She explained how we were hoping to discover whether it was really him renting the box under a false name. Irene showed the officers the photo on her phone.

The older officer took the phone from her hands, studied it, and nodded. “Yeah, we got an attempt to locate, apprehend, and detain on Troy Ryland. Can you send this photo to my phone since it's the real deal?”

“Will you do it?” Irene asked.

“With your permission, sure,” he said, and he completed the task in no time. He handed the phone back to Irene. “We'll need your names, birthdates, and addresses to complete our reports.”

We spent some time with the officers, answering their questions. When they'd finished, the older officer shook his head at Irene and me. “I want you both to think twice before you do anything like this again. And then don't do it.”

I nodded, agreeing in theory, anyway. Irene said, “Yes, Officer.” She gave them the impression she had put me up to the whole thing. I was about to clear up the misconception when Irene put her arm in mine and guided me away from them.

When we were back in my car, I noticed the meter had run out. Irene removed her sunglasses and let out a big breath of air. “My heart is still thumping a little bit.”

“Irene, not that I ever wanted you in harm's way like that, but the way you tripped Troy was amazing.”

“I didn't know how else to stop him. I have been filled with so much anger at Troy for too many years. And if it turns out he poisoned Molly, I don't know how I'll go on.”

I reached over and gave her hand a light squeeze, then I started the engine and we were on our way back to Brooks Landing. “You know, Irene, now that the police know the name Troy has been using—to get the post-office box at least—they should be able to find him.”

“When I leaned over and took his picture, he didn't even notice that. And I know he didn't recognize me.”

“That's a good thing. He seemed pretty anxious to get out of there, that's for sure.”

I
dropped Irene off at her house, surprised it wasn't quite three o'clock. I headed to the shops so Mom and Dad could go home. What I hadn't expected when I walked into Curio Finds was the stern look on my Mom's face and the sterner look on my Dad's. “What?”

Mom filled me in. “Assistant Chief Clinton Lonsbury stopped by a few minutes ago, hoping to catch you. And he seemed upset.”

“More than seemed; he was downright steaming,” Dad said.

My earlier thought about people overreacting came back to haunt me. “Did he say why?”

“He said he needed to talk to you about the shenanigans you and Irene Ryland pulled today,” Mom said.

“Shenanigans?”

“That's what he said,” Dad confirmed. “He wants you to call him.”

Pinky picked that moment to poke her head in our shop. “Cami, you're here.” She took in the picture my parents and I must have presented. “I take it you got the message to call you know who.”

I nodded then looked at my parents. “Thank you for filling in for me. Feel free to take off.”

“I think we'll hang around until after you talk to our assistant chief, make sure everything is okay,” Dad said.

Great, just great. Well, they'd find out sooner or later. “All right.” I glanced over at Pinky.

She lifted her hands. “I have nowhere to be anytime soon.”

I used the shop phone and dialed Clint's number. “It's Camryn.”

“I see you're calling from your shop. I'll be right there,” he said and hung up.

“Clint's on his way,” I announced to the snoopers, then I switched subjects. “So how has business been today?”

“It came in waves,” Mom said.

The bell on Pinky's door dinged. “Oh sure, now I get customers,” she said quietly. Dad followed her, probably to offer his help.

“Clint is an intense man at times, isn't he?” Mom said.

“Yes, he is.” Most of the time, it seemed to me. Mom and I studied each other a minute. “I meant to tell you earlier that you are looking better all the time, Mom.”

“Thank you, Cami. I feel pretty good. A little tired, maybe, but I have the rest of the day to laze around before I go to bed.” She smiled, appreciating her own dry sense of humor.

I gave her a hug, grateful for her steadfast love and
support. It was at that moment Clint walked into Curio Finds. As I stepped back, he nodded at Mom then stared at me. “Have a minute, Camryn?”

“Yes, maybe even two.”

Mom thought that was worth a grin; Clint did not. “Do you want to go into the back room?”

“No, it's all right. Mom can listen in.” The truth was, I figured Clint would temper his response with her being there.

And I think he tried to for a second or so. “Camryn, what in tarnation were you and Irene Ryland thinking when you went to St. Paul looking for Troy Ryland? He's a known felon and potentially dangerous.”

Mom's smile turned upside down. “What is Clint talking about, Cami?”

Clint didn't appear to hear her. “Imagine my surprise when I got a call from Sergeant Morse detailing all the drama at the downtown post office this afternoon.”

“What drama?” Mom asked.

Dad and Pinky both crept into Curio Finds. Clint's voice carried well, even when he tried to keep it low.

I held up my hands. “Okay. It's true, Irene and I went on a little mission, hoping to find out if Troy Ryland was still around. And it turns out his post-office box was rented under a false name. We had no intention of getting close to him. I thought it would be a giant place, but it wasn't at all.

“Irene and I planned to position ourselves so we could get a picture of him to show the police. That's all. And then he saw me, and I sort of panicked and tried to take his picture. And he recognized me because he had been in our shops.”

I turned to Pinky, who was standing with her arms across
her chest. “Pinky, you know the guy who came in the other day, the one who was acting strange?”

Pinky half shrugged. She hadn't seen him.

I left out the details about my little scuffle with Troy. “Anyway, he started to run away, and Irene tripped him and snapped his picture with her phone before he took off. The police came and took our statements and are looking for Troy. We—and Irene, especially—got the answer we were hoping for. Troy is still the holder of that P.O. box.”

“You're saying the end justified the means?” Clint said.

“All I'm saying is Irene will be very relieved when Troy Ryland is arrested.”

Pinky moved in close to me, put her arm around my waist, and came to my defense. “What's done is done. And we'll all feel better when they catch that hoodlum, right?”

Clint didn't agree with her, but he didn't say he disagreed either.

—

I
climbed into bed that night mulling over the day. In retrospect, staking out the St. Paul Post Office in search of Troy Ryland was not the smartest thing I had ever done. If I had to do over again, I would not have involved Irene. I'd have asked my friend Mark to come with me instead.

I was completely caught off guard when Troy recognized me. My sense of panic caused me to do something dumb. Irene had kept her wits about her and come through with flying colors. Ultimately, though, we had uncovered valuable information to help the police.
Yes, Clint, I didn't admit it to you in person, but I'm convinced the end did justify the means.

Troy would likely be arrested soon, and Irene would have the satisfaction of knowing that. I fell asleep with a deep sense of relief. Molly paid me another ghostly dream visit a few hours later. It shouldn't have been surprising, since I thought about her most of my waking hours.

She was different—calmer, not quite as distressed as she'd been in her prior visits. I was in Curio Finds with Irene when Molly suddenly appeared. Irene didn't seem to see or hear Molly when she said, “The killers were here. Did you see them?” The killers? I looked around, but Irene was the only other person there. Molly brushed her hand on her mother's shoulder, smiled, and disappeared. Irene hadn't noticed a thing.

When I woke up, I wasn't quite as alarmed as I'd been the other times. Either I was getting used to the ethereal Molly visiting me in my sleep, or I was comforted knowing I wasn't alone with her and a bunch of people I couldn't identify. Irene was there with me, too.

I rolled over and pulled the covers up to my ears.
Molly, the police are after Troy. It's just a question of time before they find him.
I smiled into my pillow. It wasn't bad enough that I talked to myself and my deceased parents; I'd also fallen into the habit of trying to send telepathic messages to the spirit of Molly Dalton.

—

O
n Wednesday morning, Pinky called me early. “Cami, I can't stand it anymore. I noticed a light in your shop, and it's that bathroom light again. I thought the electrician fixed it.”

I sat up and rubbed my eyelids so I could open them all
the way. “He said there was nothing to fix. What in the world is going on with that thing?”

“I think it must be Molly's ghost. One of my customers was talking about that yesterday, and Erin said the same thing on the night Molly died. When people die suddenly like that their spirits stick around because they don't know they're dead.”

“Let's not get into that again, Pink.” I got up and headed to the bathroom. “I'll be down there in a little bit.”

—

P
inky raised her hands when I walked into her shop. “The light went off right after I talked to you. If it's not Molly, then it's got to be the wiring.”

“If it happens again, we'll get Allen back to do another check.”

A group of coffee seekers came in and put an end to our conversation. I went into Curio Finds, hung up my coat and purse, then peeked in the bathroom before I went back to help Pinky with orders. When the rush was over, I was on my way back to Curio Finds when my eyes fell on a shiny penny lying on the floor by Pinky's service counter. I bent over and picked it up then asked the two young women standing nearby, “Did either one of you drop this?”

One of them said, “It's yours.” She pointed at the penny I was holding between my pointer finger and thumb. “Hey, you got a heads-up.”

I smiled and stuck the penny in my pocket. A heads-up? I hadn't heard that phrase in reference to finding pennies before. My birth mother had recited to me more than once the old ditty, “Find a penny, pick it up, and all the day you'll
have good luck.” For some reason my young mind had latched onto the phrase like it was my own. But the more I tossed the two phrases around in my mind, “heads-up” made more sense given the experiences I'd had.

I assembled a stack of paperwork and was able to work on that and pay bills between customers. When I'd sealed some envelopes, I discovered I was down to my last few stamps. There were no customers in either shop, so it was a good time to run the errand. I grabbed my coat and purse and stuck my head in the archway between our shops. “Hey, Pinky, I've got to run up to the post office. I'll be back in a few.”

She was writing something on a notepad and gave me a quick look. “'Kay.”

The post office wasn't far, but the temperature was in the low thirties, and I decided to drive instead of walk. On my way back I was about to turn left on the street that led to the back parking lot when I noticed a familiar car pulling up to the curb across from our shops. It looked like the same one I had followed to Plymouth, the one belonging to Bryan George. Instead of turning, I pulled over and parked not quite a block away. Will Dalton got out of the passenger side and headed across the street toward Brew Ha-Ha's door. That could not be good. I had on a knitted cap and pulled it lower so my cheeks were partially covered. I got out of the car, crossed the street, and walked fast and furiously to my shop door.

I heard Will Dalton's voice in Pinky's shop and moved to the archway to listen. “I heard your employee bailed out of jail and went to talk to the Brooks Landing Police. They indicated there might not be enough evidence against Emaline Andersohn after all. Be assured I am not going to let this rest.
The poisoned coffee came from here, and if the police dismiss the criminal charges, I will pursue civil action.”

I stepped into Brew Ha-Ha, ready to defend Pinky, but Will Dalton was already headed out the door. Pinky's face was white, and her mouth was open as she watched him leave. Then she pointed and ran halfway to the door. “That's him!”

“Who?”

“That guy standing by the Porsche. He's the one who was in the shop the day Molly died, the one that asked about the blonde.”

“What?”

“He's getting in his car now. And Will Dalton is getting in with him.”

“Dear Lord. Call Mark or Clint or any cop. I'm going to see where they're going. We'll talk about what Dalton said later.”

“Cami—”

I didn't hear the rest of her words. I rushed out my shop door and was heading north on the sidewalk before Mr. George pulled onto the street. I prayed he didn't spot me in his rearview mirror. And when he started driving away, I crossed the street as fast as my legs would carry me. I climbed in my car, glad I'd forgotten to turn the ignition off. It was warmed up and ready to go. Two cars fell in between the Porsche and mine, a good separation. Mr. George went south then turned west and drove to the golf course, the same one Clint and I had eaten at Saturday night. One of the cars had turned off, and with only the one between us, I held back a bit as George turned onto the golf course drive then into the main parking lot.

I drove straight to the back parking lot, thinking it was
nothing less than serendipity or divine intervention that Clint and I had used the back entrance on Saturday. I wouldn't have known it was there otherwise. My cell phone rang as I was turning off the ignition. I wrestled it out of my coat pocket and saw it was Pinky. “Cami, I left messages for both Clint and Mark.”

“Thanks, Pinky. When they call back, tell them I'm at the golf course restaurant. I followed the Porsche here. You know what? I'll call them myself.” After we hung up, I phoned Clint, and when it went straight to voicemail, I told him where I was and why. Then I headed into the clubhouse. I crept up the steps until I could see into the bar area where a handful of people were eating. Will Dalton and Bryan George were not among them. There was a hostess at the top of the steps, and I willed myself to be casual when I said, “Hi, I'm looking for the two men that came in a minute ago.”

“Oh yes, I'll show you to their table.”

“No, that's okay. Just point me in the right direction.”

“All right, well, they requested to be in the small dining room to discuss some business. It's normally not open for lunch.” It was the one Clint and I had eaten in, and unless they were sitting by the door, I figured I could slip in unseen.

“Sure, that makes sense. Thanks.” I turned and headed to the short hallway that led to the room. One of the glass double doors was closed, and the other was slightly ajar. I couldn't see the men from there. I remembered the wait station area on the immediate right, went through the door, and quietly slipped into it. There were two open pass-through windows for the waiters to use.

I unbuttoned my coat, went down on my knees, and crept
to the openings. The men were sitting next to each other at a table two rows away. It was angled so they could both see out the large south windows that overlooked the golf course. They had their backs to the wait station. Even though it was dark in the area, I stayed to the side of the opening so they wouldn't see me if they happened to turn around. I remembered my cell phone, took it out, and turned it to silent.

Bryan George was talking, and the first thing I heard was, “. . . very smoothly.”