1 Sunshine Hunter (18 page)

He set the cake down on top of the case, looked at me, and smiled, “Snickerdoodles, eh? They’re kind of a lost cookie anymore, aren’t they? Everybody wants the chocolate chip varieties and the fancy cookies, but give me an old-fashioned snickerdoodle any day.” His smile faded, and his brow furrowed a bit as recognition came over his face. “I know you. You work up at the racquetball club, don’t you?”

Should I keep smiling or not? My heart was pounding so hard, I was sure he could hear it. I smiled and said, “I do. I’ve seen you there, too.”

“Dorothy, this lady worked with Jerry,” he said with sadness in his voice.

“Oh my,” she uttered as she pressed her hand against her heart. I could see tears instantly well up in her eyes. “That was the most terrible thing that happened. I’m still crying at night just thinking about that poor boy.”

“Were you related to him?” I asked. “Did you know him well?”

“No, no one really knew Jerry very well,” the man said. He wiped his hand on his apron and held it across the counter to shake mine, “I’m Jim Ferange. This is my wife, Dorothy.”

They seemed like such
nice people, and I was suddenly feeling like I had been wrong about the sinister intent of the man and his drugs.

“I’m Susan Hunter. It’s nice to meet
both of you.” I paused for only a moment before jumping right in with questions. “May I ask?” I addressed Jim. “How did you know Jerry? Why did you come to see him every week?”

“Jim found him a couple of years ago,” Dorothy interjected. “He was delivering mail at the time, and he kept seeing a teenager over by the abandoned steel office.”

“I’ve been involved with Big Brothers for a number of years,” said Jim, “and I could tell this was a boy who needed some help. I suspected from his behavior he was on drugs. He was too old for the Big Brothers program, but I got a couple of the other men who are mentors to come with me and find out what we could do for the boy. To make a long story short, we found out he’d been alone for quite a while. His dad died when he was young, and his mom was a drug addict all his life; she abandoned him when he was sixteen.”

I felt sick to my stomach. Jerry and I had seen each other often,
but I had never known he had so little love in his life. I couldn’t comprehend it.

“We all chipped in and helped to get him into a rehab program. When he came out, our friends, Stan and Louise, agreed to put him on nights over at the club.”

I pressed on with a couple more questions. “You said he went through a rehab program? The police said he had steroids in his system – more than were legally prescribed. Did you know about that?”

“I suspected the steroids, but I didn’t know for sure
,” Jim said. “As with any drug addict, you can only hope they won’t relapse, but Jerry didn’t go back to the hard drugs he had done before. He wanted to enter powerlifting competitions, and he must have thought steroids were the way to go. I can only assume he was getting the extra pills from another weightlifter. It makes me sad to hear about the drugs, but I’m still glad we helped him.”

We were all somber for a moment. I had one more questio
n, “What was in the package you brought every week?”

Jim’s face lit up, “Snickerdoodles. Jerry loved them, and Dorothy made me take them to him every week.
Plus, it gave me a chance to check in with him and see how he was doing or if he needed anything. Jerry didn’t want anybody at the club to know I was bringing him cookies.”

Dorothy chimed in, “He didn’t want razzed from the other weight guys about eating sugar, so I wrapped them in plain brown paper and tied the package with a string.”

Cookies. I never would have guessed cookies.

We chatted for a few more minutes. Jim promised to give Darby a call, and I told Dorothy I would be back soon. I
picked up my bag of snickerdoodles and left.

Back in my car, I sank into my seat, put my head back, and closed my eyes.
Two tears slipped out. I wished I would have known more about Jerry when I was with him. Would it have made any difference? We go through life with so many people crossing our paths, but what do we really know about them? And what would we do if we did know the details of their lives? I suddenly felt guilty about my irritation with lunch lady Sophie this morning at the club. I would make it a point to get her know her better.

I looked at my watch. The day was passing. I absolutely had to go see Detective Bentley.

I parallel parked across from the police station again and promptly jaywalked across the street. I was tempting fate as I really didn’t need to add a walking ticket to my speeding tickets.

The police station was in an old, large, stone building that used to house the town’s library. The large entryway had marble columns and high ceilings. I made my way across the marble floor to the main desk and spoke to the officer on duty. “Susan Hunter to see Detective Bentley.”

He nodded
, picked up the telephone, pushed a button, and simply said, “Susan Hunter.” He looked at me with no expression and mumbled, “He’ll be right out.”

I stood by the desk and lo
oked around. There weren’t many people in the large lobby. A woman and child were sitting on a bench against one wall, and a policeman was making his way toward a water fountain. My heart was starting to race, and I was getting nervous. No one had rushed out yet to handcuff me, but I could feel my chest tightening with anxiety, and it was getting harder to breathe.

“Susan Hunter?”
a deep voice asked.

I turned to see a strikingly handsome man, probably late forties, his brown hair in a current style that
was thick and full on top. He was looking at me with smoldering blue-gray eyes; his square cut jaw had a cleft. He was casually dressed in jeans with a simple black pullover shirt and a light gray linen blazer with the sleeves pushed up. I had pictured him in my mind as more of a roly-poly balding type with glasses. Being grilled by someone who looked like the leading man in a movie wasn’t going to make this any easier. My palms were sweating.

“Yes?” I squeaked. Wonderful, now my voice wasn’t going to work. I was pretty sure I saw a twinkle in his eyes and a suppressed smile, but I
couldn’t be certain.

“Detective Bentley,” he said as he shook my sweaty hand. “Follow me.” He turned and headed down a hallway off of the main entrance.

We entered a small office, and he motioned for me to take a seat in the chair in front of the desk. He sat down on the edge of the desk, leaned down close to my face, and said, “Where were you last Saturday night at 12:30 A.M.?”

Oh my gosh! I nearly had a heart attack. I was sure he could see the fear in my eyes and hear my heart straining to
get out of my chest. “I, I, …” I stammered, “I was at home. In bed.”

“Were you alone?” He
asked raising one eyebrow.

“Yes
. Yes. I was alone.” I was near tears now. There would be no one to corroborate my story.

He stood up and laughed, “I’m just kidding you. You looked so scared I had to have a little fun with you.” He walked around the desk and sat down, still chuckling.
“Most people watch too much television -”

“Come on!” I said loudly, cutting him off. “That wasn’t just a scare. You nearly gave me a heart attack. Really! I thought my heart was going to beat
out of my chest!” I was mad.

“His eyes were still twinkling, but he looked a tad remorseful, “Susan, let’s cut right to the chase. You aren’t a suspect in Jerry’s murder.”

“I’m not?” I asked as relief washed over me.

“No, you’re not. At least not for now.” He leaned back and put his fee
t up on his desk. “We know Dick has been telling his cousin Larry, your friend, some of what’s going on with this case, but we leaked some of the information with the hope of finding out even more information.” He paused and put his feet back on the floor. He was serious and all business now. “When we found out the poison was delivered by apple juice, and a couple of the club members heard you tell Jerry he could have yours, we put you on our suspect list. But there is one person who was at the Cable Connect party that night who we haven’t been able to find. He has a dubious past, and we’re following leads for him right now. I just wanted to ask you if there was anything you remember about that night we might need to know.” He leaned forward and looked at me intently, “Oh, and to tell you – don’t leave town.” He chuckled again.

Was this guy a charmer, a comedian, or a smart-aleck
? I was too worked up to figure it out, and I was sure I didn’t care.

“Wicker Barnes,” I said. “You’re looking for Wicker Barnes.”

With a stony look, he asked, “How did you know that?”

With my own stony look, I told him,
“Because Wicker Barnes has been in Florida all week trying to kill me.”

Detective Bentley had the good sense to look shocked.

Almost two hours later, I had filled him in on all of the details. He agreed with Darby that poison beer at the boat races was a stretch. He also pointed out we never actually saw Wicker flatten any car tires, or run us off the road, or light the
Shark Trek
on fire. But he said I made a compelling case against the guy, and he would put men at the airport right away.

I left the station and got back into the Chevelle. It was nearly 4:00. Darby and Johnny would be at my apartment in an hour. If I drove fast, I would have time to make a quick stop at Martin’s Deli for rye bread and corned beef. The sauerkraut I had bought last weekend would still be good, but I wasn’t counting on the bread and the meat to have held up.

When I walked through the door, Martin greeted me a somewhat baffled look. “Susan, you surprised me when you pulled in. Where did you come from? Do you know the police are looking for you?”

“I just left the station a few minutes ago
,” I said. “I’m sorry I can’t chat, Martin, but I’m in a hurry. My usual please.” I moved toward the shelves to grab a loaf of rye.

“But Susan, why didn’t they arrest you?
” he asked. “Ashley said you murdered Jerry and skipped town.”

I sighed. Ashley was one of the day shift girls
who quit at the racquetball club because she was afraid to keep working there after Jerry’s death. She must be the one spreading the rumors.

“Martin, I most certainly did not murder Jerry. The police have a suspect
, and they’ll have him in custody soon.” I quickly thought about his relationship with my father. “Martin, have you been telling this story to other people?” I asked.

“Well,
a few,” he said looking embarrassed. “But I didn’t tell your dad. I couldn’t give him that kind of bad news. There was no way I could break his heart and tell him that giving you that beast of a car turned you into a murderer.”

I almost smiled at that, but I didn’t want to encourage him, and I was in a hurry. “Thanks, Martin, I appreciate it,” I told him as I paid for my items and left the store.

A few minutes later, I pulled into the carport, grabbed my gym bag, my cookies, and the groceries, and went into the building. I ran up the three flights of stairs.

The few groceries put away, I headed to the bathroom
for a quick shower. I wanted to be ready for work at the club later so my visit with Darby and Johnny wouldn’t be cut short if they decided to stay for the evening.

After a quick blow-dry and a fresh swipe of mascara, I pulled on a club shirt and a pair of comfortable jeans. No heels tonight. I was still physically fatigued from the vacation, so I went in search of a pair of tennis shoes. I would have worn my court shoes, but one was ruined and the other was with jaws somewhere at the bottom of the Gulf of Mexico. I shuddered at the thought.

Where were my Nikes? They weren’t in my closet, and I never put shoes under my bed, so they had to be in my gym bag. I brought the bag out into the living room and started pulling out the contents. I needed to change out the wrinkled clothing anyway. My Nikes were in a side pocket; I pulled them out. A plastic baggie flipped out with them.

What was this? It h
ad powder in it. The bag wasn’t marked, the powder had no odor, and I certainly wasn’t going to taste it, but I knew right away what it was, and it had been planted in my bag.

My mind started racing again. What if the police didn’t find Wicker Barnes? What if they couldn’t connect him to Jerry’s murder? What if they searched my apartment and found this powder? Would it be enough to convict me? I had to hide it. I needed to get it out of my apartment.

There was a knock at the door. “Just a minute,” I yelled. I shoved the baggie into my jeans pocket, threw everything back into the gym bag, and tossed it into the spare room.

I took a couple of deep breaths to regain my composure and opened the door. It was Darby. He was alone, all smiles, and he had the bottle of Jack with him.

“Where’s Johnny?” I asked as I looked out into the hallway.

“Oh, he’s not coming,” Darby said matter-of-factly.

“You’re kidding,” I said. I couldn’t contain my surprise. “What happened?”