If Fried Chicken Could Fly (23 page)

I thought about Mabel and Amy’s behavior earlier, what they’d said about him being horrible.

“None of us knew he had a wife, Betts,” Jake continued. “I hope the police are looking at her or someone from his past as suspects, too. To me, all this only makes Everett look suspicious of doing something he should not have been doing. Maybe someone got mad enough at him for whatever shenanigans he was up to and decided to kill him.”

“In the cooking school.”

“In the cooking school,” Jake repeated.

“That information might make Gram look guilty again.”

“It’s not really information as much as speculation.”

Jerome appeared on the other side of the table. “Isabelle,” he said. “Sorry to interrupt.”

“Jerome’s here, Jake.”

“Where?”

“Right there.”

“Hi, Jerome.”

“He says hi back,” I said.

“Isabelle, I have some news to share,” Jerome said.

“He has some news, Jake.”

“Tell her and then she’ll summarize it for me,” Jake said as he looked slightly to the left of where Jerome stood.

“I rushed off earlier, so I could go with Cliff. He seemed to have an urgent situation and you’d mentioned that you’d like for me to spy.”

“Good job. What did you find out?”

“Mabel Randall,” he said. “Well, Mabel and Amy.”

“What about them?”

“The best I could tell was that last night, Mabel told the other officer, Jim, something bad about Everett. She told him—and others—that Everett had done something terrible to her granddaughter, Amy.”

“Oh no,” I said, my mind conjuring the worst possible thing again.

“Here’s the rub. He didn’t. Amy lied to Mabel. That’s what was being straightened out today.”

“Did Mabel kill Everett because of what she thought he did to Amy?”

“Jim and Cliff think it’s possible, but there’s not a scrap of evidence.”

I thought about how the small pieces of paper and the treasure hunt might work in conjunction with Mabel or Amy potentially contributing to Everett’s death. It didn’t work. None of those thoughts fit together at all. Maybe I was placing importance on things that weren’t important in my desperate attempt to prove that Gram didn’t kill Everett.

I made some sort of frustrated gurgle at the back of my throat.

“What? Tell me what he said,” Jake said.

“We have a whole other angle,” I began.

While I told Jake what Jerome had said, Jerome moved to the side of the table and looked closely at the advertisement Jake had found. He studied it with full attention.

“That
is
a whole new angle,” Jake said. “And how horrible to have blamed Everett for doing something he didn’t do, something that was probably terrible. Mabel’s got her hands full.”

“I think I’ve figured something out, Isabelle,” Jerome said.

I held up a finger to Jake:
Hang on a second.

“Remember how I’m so certain that I knew this woman, Belinda Jasper?”

“Yes.”

“I’m becoming more and more certain, but there’s something else. Look at her closely. She resembles someone else you know.”

I did as he instructed but couldn’t see a resemblance to anyone.

“What if her hair were blond?” Jerome said. “She’d look like the woman who works in the saloon. What’s her name? Jenna?”

It occurred to me that maybe Jerome was just as desperate as I was when it came to proving that Gram wasn’t a killer. The advertisement was old and I thought that the picture might either resemble no one or everyone; it seemed impossible that the person in the picture, a person long dead, would resemble someone alive today. But I looked closely and realized that Jerome was right—there was something about Belinda that reminded me of Jenna. There was something similar about their heart-shaped faces and thin but straight lips and their wide-set eyes.

“Jake, does this woman look like a brunet version of Jenna?” I asked as I moved the picture in front of him.

Jake looked at the picture even more closely than Jerome and I had. The same thoughts must have occurred to him, too, because I saw the look on his face transform from doubt to curiosity to a surprised discovery.

“I’ll be…Well, I’ll be…Betts, Jerome, I think you might have just found yet
another
angle,” he said.

“Do you suppose they’re related?” Jake asked.

“The resemblance is kind of uncanny, except for the hair, but I’m sure Jenna dyes her hair,” I said.

“And what would it mean if they were related? Does this have something to do with…You’re sure he left?” Jake said. I nodded. Jerome, looking as though more memories were coming back to him, disappeared again with a quick good-bye. “What does this have to do with Jerome?”

“Just when I think we’re onto something, something else happens.”

Jake laughed. “I’m not sure we’re very good at investigating crimes.”

“Probably not, but still…it’s all so…”

“Interesting, strange, odd?”

“Yeah, but mostly interesting. No matter what, all of
these things are interesting. Ghosts, coins in tombstones, bartenders who resemble dead contortionists. Interesting.”

“That’s Broken Rope, sweetie. We’re nothing if not interesting. In fact, I found a few more interesting things, things I’m not sure Jerome should see yet. We still have
The Noose
files. As frustrated as I am about not having this place as organized as I’d like, I’m glad I hadn’t filed all the newspaper articles with their respective citizens yet. I know a little more about Jerome just from some of these articles that weren’t with his stolen files.
The Noose,
though a semi-respectable newspaper, spent a good amount of space telling gossipy stories about locals.”

“Tell me more.”

“Jerome started off his life in Broken Rope as a loner. He lived out in the woods and came into town infrequently, but something happened toward the end of his life that caused him to not only spend more time in town but to start thieving.”

“Right. You kind of told me that before.”

“But why, why did he turn into a criminal?”

“Maybe he ran out of money?” I said.

“I don’t think so. I don’t know for sure but from all I can glean he was a big strappin’ guy.”

“He was.”

“Those were valued qualities back then. Life wasn’t easy; big and strappin’ could get you a job. He could figure out how to make a living. He didn’t need to steal.”

“Why did he, then?”

“Dunno. Read this. You’ll see why I didn’t want him to see it.”

It was another copy of something old. This time it was a
newspaper article from
The Noose.
It was dated July 23, 1918. I read aloud.

Local citizen and wanted bank robber Jerome Cowbender was shot and killed dead today by Sheriff Earp. Wanted for stealing a treasure of gold from the Broken Rope Bank a month ago, Jerome was shot down after robbing the bank of a parcel of cash today. Before he was killed, he left a poorly aimed storm of bullets in his wake. It seems the man was not good with a gun.

The dead criminal had mostly worked a herd of cattle on his land outside of town. No one had claimed to have seen him since the gold robbery and since he’d been posted as a wanted man.

As he rode his horse down Main Street, he was approached by Sheriff Earp. No one heard the words they exchanged, but the sheriff pursued Mr. Cowbender on horseback. Witnesses say that Mr. Cowbender fired all the bullets in his gun but didn’t hit more than a building or a post. The sheriff took three well-aimed shots, two of them finding their target and killing Mr. Cowbender dead. He’ll be buried in the outlaw cemetery beside the church. Word has it that an anonymous person has purchased a tombstone so his grave will not be unmarked.

A lump formed in the back of my throat. It was as if I were reading about the killing of a friend, not someone I hadn’t known and who was a ghost. I knew the ways of the Old West. I knew guns ruled the day and bank robbers and horse thieves usually weren’t treated to a jury of their peers.
Shoot-outs occurred all the time. They still did, but blanks and fake blood were used.

“You okay?” Jake asked.

“Fine,” I said, swallowing the ridiculous emotions.

“I hadn’t thought this might be too sad for you. You like him, don’t you?”

“He’s a nice…ghost,” I said.

“Good, I’m glad to hear that, Betts. You need more people, even dead ones, in your life that you think are nice.”

My cell phone buzzed.

“Hello,” I said.

“It’s Jim, Betts. I see your car across the street. Stop by my office when you can. I have something I want to tell you.”

“I’m on my way,” I said. I hung up the phone and told Jake we’d meet again later. If Jim wanted to tell me something, I wasn’t going to miss the opportunity. Jake and Patches walked me to the door, watched me cross the street, and then locked the door again.

“I barely hung up the phone,” Jim said as I came through the jail’s front doors.

“Jake and I were done,” I said. I swiped a piece of hair off my forehead as casually as possible. I should have waited a minute but I was not good at containing my enthusiasm.

“Hey, Betts,” Cliff said. He was sitting at his desk with his hands over his keyboard. Suddenly it seemed normal and right with the universe that Cliff Sebastian, former architect, former married guy, and my first love, had abandoned his previous life and was a police officer in our hometown. Whatever crazy puzzle of events ruled our lives seemed to come together, everything fitting as it should.

“Hey, Cliff,” I said.

“Come on over and sit down,” Jim said. “I’ve got something I’d like to talk to you about.”

He waited until I took a seat in the same chair I’d been in the night of the murder before he sat down, too. He looked at me a long moment, pushed up his glasses, and opened a file on the desk.

“Something’s going on, Betts. I need you to be as honest with me as you possibly can, do you understand?”

“Am I being questioned formally regarding the murder of Everett Morningside? If so, I’d like to request an attorney.” I couldn’t help myself.

“No, Betts, you aren’t being questioned regarding the murder, well, not in a legal manner of speaking. I don’t think you killed anyone, but if I find evidence that you did I will arrest you. You’re more than welcome to an attorney. In fact, you didn’t even need to come over here, but here you are. Shall we continue?”

I nodded. I’d have a friendly conversation with Jim, but I’d be on the phone to Verna if he acted like I or Gram was a prime suspect.

“Good. Fine. Thank you.” Jim peered at the open file. “I think someone’s playing a trick on all of us.”

“A trick?”

“Yes. I just got the results on the ‘coins’ you found in Jerome Cowbender’s tombstone.”

“And?”

“They’re worthless. Fake. Something kids might give away as birthday party favors. They aren’t even old. According to the lab guy who tested them, the gold paint on their outsides chips and flakes quickly. They haven’t even been out of whatever container or package they were in for very long.”

“Someone planted them?
In
the tombstone?” I said. Who? I went through the list of possible suspects in my mind, but the list seemed to only grow more.

“That’s what it seems like,” Jim said. “Now, I don’t know who would do this and why they would do it, but I’d like to know if you know anything more about the coins.”

“Nothing. I found them and I called you.”

“Right.” Jim leaned back in his chair and looked at me again. “Betts, are you one hundred percent sure you didn’t have anything to do with putting the coins in the tombstone?”

Now would have been a good time to call my attorney. Jim wasn’t questioning me directly about Everett’s murder, but he was questioning me around something that might have something to do with Everett’s murder. It was murky and it wasn’t. I knew what was going on, but I decided to throw caution to the wind, like any good dropout would do.

“No, Jim, I didn’t. Why would I?”

“A diversion.”

“A…? You mean from investigating the murder? No, and I’m trying not to be offended at your accusation.”

Jim put his hands up. “Hey, I’m not accusing. I’m just asking.”

I looked at Cliff whose focus was intently on his computer screen. “Okay, well, the answer again is that I didn’t have a thing to do with the fake coins. I don’t know who would plant them, but perhaps it was a joke of some sort or perhaps it was something someone did for the tourists like you said,” I cleared my throat. “Maybe they do have something to do with the real treasure.”

“These were fake coins. These weren’t part of any valuable treasure,” Jim said.

Maybe Everett’s murder had nothing to do with the treasure. Maybe Everett had been killed because of some false accusations from a teenager. Maybe his wife—the one no one in Broken Rope seemed to have known about—had something to do with his death. But even if Gram was involved with the search, the treasure was still an avenue I thought Jim should look at closely.

Did I think that the coins were the result of someone boosting the appeal for tourists? Not really. It was possible but not likely since I didn’t know anything about them beforehand. The cemetery was a tourist destination, but it was right next to the cooking school. If someone had hidden the coins for something fun, they would have told me and Gram about them. Additionally, they’d been well hidden. We didn’t make things that hard for the tourists.