If Fried Chicken Could Fly (6 page)

The two desks seemed no more disturbed than they already had looked: messy paperwork but organized, shiny, and new computer equipment. The chair I’d sat in was still in the same spot. Jim’s chair hadn’t moved from where he’d left it. The other desk’s chairs seemed to be in their right spots, too.

I walked to the front of the room and found what I thought could have made the noise.

A pair of handcuffs, an old antique pair was on the floor. I was almost, but not one hundred percent, certain they hadn’t been on the floor before.

“Huh,” I said as I crouched to gather the cuffs. They were old and very heavy. I didn’t know what sort of metals had been used over the years to create handcuffs, but these were
solid and would be a burden to someone’s wrists and shoulders if they had to wear them for too long.

They must have fallen off the wall because of a vibration caused when Jim closed the door, I reasoned. But they hadn’t fallen off the wall until a few minutes after he left, I thought to myself.

“Delayed reaction?” I said quietly as I stood to place them back where they had come from.

They were rusted and had thick and wicked bars that closed around the wrists of captured criminals. The curved parts where wrists were placed seemed small and tight. I couldn’t help but slip one of my own into the curve. There was nothing unusual about the size of my wrists, but the cuffs were tight and painful against the wrist bone. Time had certainly made handcuffs more comfortable and a better fit for different sizes.

As I studied the cuffs and contemplated whether or not more comfortable versions were deserved, Cliff came through the door, holding folders and a big black bag that resembled the one that Jim had used for the fingerprint equipment.

He paused when he saw me, glanced at my hands and said, “Jim told me I wasn’t supposed to ever touch the cuffs.”

“These fell. I was just putting them back,” I said as I pulled my wrist from the loop. Even that maneuver squeezed the bone and sent a twinge of pain up to my elbow. I wouldn’t show it, though. In fact, I was going to concentrate on not showing anything except a cool detachment. Who cared if Cliff Sebastian was back in town? Besides, I had bigger concerns than the ghost of my previous love life coming back to haunt me.

Cliff raised an eyebrow but then turned and took the bag and folders to his desk. He looked at Gram before turning back toward me.

“How’s she doing, B…etts,” he said, as though he’d remembered that he was the only one who called me B and it might now be an inappropriate familiarity.

“She’s been asleep since we got here.” I looked for an empty hook or nail, but there were so many cuffs it wasn’t an easy task.

“That’s probably good. She needs her rest. We need her alert so she can help us find who killed Everett Morningside.”

I found a nail, but I had to maneuver the cuffs in between a bunch of others. I was sure I’d cause more to fall. “You don’t think Gram was the killer, then?”

He hesitated. “I hope not.”

He wasn’t totally schooled in police-talk; he wanted to be careful with what he said and not commit to a particular conclusion.

I made sure the cuffs were stable before I turned again and looked at Cliff. His concentration was focused on a manila folder that he held like an open prayer book. I hoped he wouldn’t look up for a second so I could get a good, critical, well-lit look at him.

There was no question that he wasn’t a ghost. He was real, as real as Cliff had ever been. I wished that when he’d left Broken Rope all those years ago, he hadn’t stayed so firmly in my heart. As I inspected him, it was as if something woke up in my chest, something opened and breathed for the first time in years.

Oh crap, I was in trouble. I put my hand on my chest and
told my thawing heart to freeze right back up, because falling for a married man was not only a mistake, it was a
huge
mistake and could mess up lots of lives.

I didn’t know this Cliff any more than he knew this Betts. We were over ten years older and had both traveled through our twenties, the time when you’re supposed to figure out what you’re going to do with the rest of your life. It was interesting to see that he’d changed paths just like I had. Being a police officer in Broken Rope was far from the world of architecture. My position as a cooking school teacher was pretty far from law school, too. Had we found our callings, or were we two of those people who can’t ever find what they really want out of life so they keep trying different jobs and careers? I hoped for the former.

Cliff looked up suddenly and was surprised at my intense stare.

“What?” he said.

“Nothing.”

He put the folder down and cleared his throat. “I suppose I owe you some sort of explanation for returning to Broken Rope.”

“No, not at all. It’s none of my business.” I regretted the words immediately. Darn straight he owed me an explanation. I should have stomped my foot and said as much.

“Well, nonetheless, I do want to talk to you at some point. I have some things…things I should tell you, but now’s not a good time.”

“Sure, we’ll talk.”

Cliff nodded and looked as though he was about to say something else when the door flew open with a gust of personality and the distinct smell of fish.

“Verna, thanks for coming,” I said as I hugged her, fish smell and all.

“I didn’t have any choice, young’un. I was summoned, even if it wasn’t by a summons.” Verna laughed at her own jokes all the time. Usually it was because she was the only one who thought they were funny, but sometimes it was because everyone else listening was still adjusting to the volume and tone of her deep loud voice.

Verna Oldenmeyer was the woman who’d originally been the inspiration for my wanting to become an attorney. She was smart, big, brash, never bothered with her short red hair and never wore a stitch of makeup. The smart part was what inspired me. When I was a young girl, I’d listen to her banter with anyone who was in her space. She’d win every time. I liked the idea of winning and had decided that it was because she was so smart that she won. When I learned she was an attorney, I wanted to be one, too. It was the dream, the career ideal, that I held on to for years.

When I dropped out, I thought Verna would be more disappointed than my parents, but she hadn’t been disappointed in the least. Instead, she hugged me tightly the day after I got home and told me that her biggest secret was that she sometimes wished she’d dropped out of law school, too.

I didn’t believe her, but I appreciated the lie.

When she wasn’t practicing law, Verna was all about fishing or genealogy. If she didn’t have a worm in the water, she was in front of the computer looking for direct links between someone from Broken Rope’s past to someone who was currently alive. She came upon dead ends more often than not though. Since so many infamous Broken Rope characters lived on the wrong side of the law, they frequently
died young or without family that would claim them. More than direct lineages, she’d find cousins-by-marriage or similar non-blood relations, but finding those connections had become one of her passions.

“We took you away from camping,” I said.

“Yep. Left Ben snoring on the air mattress. Good grief, is that Cliff Sebastian?” she said to me as though he couldn’t hear.

“Hi, Verna,” Cliff said as he walked forward. He extended a hand, but I saw him prepare for the inevitable embrace. Verna might battle tough to win arguments, but she was still big on hugging.

She pulled him to her and his cheek was forced into the snap on the top pocket of her fishing vest. He was probably grateful she hadn’t left a hook on it.

“What in blazin’ are you doing in Broken Rope?”

“I moved back recently to become an officer with Jim.”

“None of that makes any sense. Is he speaking Martian? Have I lost my mind, or has he, Betts?”

I shrugged.

“You’ll take me and Ben out to Bunny’s for pancakes and sausages and explain yourself, young man. Y’hear?”

“Yes, ma’am. Any time you’re available.”

“Well, I’ll let you know. For now, we need to attend to Miz. I do need something to eat, though. Vending machine anywhere?”

“Jim ran down to Bunny’s. He’s bringing back food and coffee,” I said.

“God bless that Bunny for having no life but that all-the-time café. If it weren’t for her, we’d all spend way too much time being hungry,” Verna said.

On cue, Jim opened the door while balancing multiple cups of coffee and a couple white bags with grease stains on the outside.

“Verna, glad you could make it.”

“I wasn’t given much choice, Jim,” Verna said as she took a bag and peered inside. Her eyebrows lifted in approval and she reached into it and pulled out a chocolate-glazed donut.

“Blame it on Betts. She wouldn’t let us talk to her gram without you present.”

“That’s because she’s a very smart girl. But you know you could have waited until tomorrow afternoon.”

“Verna, there’s a killer on the loose. I’ve got nothing at this moment except that the victim’s wife claims that Miz was having an affair with her husband and that she killed him. I have to ask some questions, and I have to ask those questions right away. Sorry if your fishing trip was cut short.”

Verna inspected Jim as she chewed. After a moment she said, “Well, I suppose that makes sense. Damn shame about Everett. Nice man. Betts, go and fetch your gram. We’ll set up some chairs in a happy circle and put something in the middle to hold the food and coffee.”

This was Verna’s way of giving orders. She’d defined my job, but it would be expected that Jim and Cliff would accomplish the other tasks.

They did as they’d been passive-aggressively told while I went back to the cell. Despite Verna’s loud arrival, Gram was still sleeping so peacefully that it was a shame to wake her. I ducked under the top bunk and shook her arm gently. “Gram, wake up. Verna’s here.”

Gram’s eyes fluttered open. “Isn’t she supposed to be on a fishing trip?” She blinked. “Aw, shoot-fire, Betts, now I remember. Poor Everett. I’m a convict.”

“Not quite yet.” I said. “Jim and Cliff are going to ask you some questions, but don’t answer anything Verna doesn’t want you to answer. Got it? Let her lead the way.”

“Yeah, I got it,” Gram said as she sat up and unfolded herself from the bunk. “Not bad, comfort-wise.”

“Yes, but your bed at home would be better, I bet.”

“Betts,” she said as she lowered her voice and whispered in my ear. “Did you clean anything up in the hallway outside the supply room today?”

“No. What do you mean?”

“Good. Okay. Let’s get this over with.” Gram led the way out of the small holding cell. I had more questions but didn’t want to raise any further suspicion, so I kept them to myself.

There was no interview room in the jail. The only private space available was the bathroom. Neither Gram nor Verna wanted to have a conversation in there, so they went outside and conferred for about ten minutes.

When they came in, Gram took a chair next to Verna. I sat on Gram’s other side and the three of us faced Jim and Cliff over a box we used to hold the bag with the late-night snacks. I didn’t have an appetite and neither did Gram. Cliff pretended to be interested in a pastry and Jim just held tight to his coffee. He placed a cassette recorder on the box and pushed
record
.

“Broken Rope police chief Jim Morrison present with Cliff Sebastian, Missouri Anna Winston, Isabelle Winston, and attorney Verna Oldenmeyer.” He recited the date, the precise time and then said, “Miz, which is how Missouri
Anna is known, can you please tell me what you did today, from the time you woke up to the present moment.”

Gram sighed. “I went through this, Jim.”

“Yes, but we didn’t have a tape recorder running at the time.”

Gram looked at Verna who nodded and added, “If I stop you at any point, Miz, don’t continue until I give you the okeydokey.”

I hadn’t heard Gram’s version of her day, so I listened closely. She’d gotten to the school at about nine thirty, taught the first cooking class, stayed at the school through lunch and then taught the afternoon class. She knew I ran to the store for some red food coloring, but she said she stayed at the school while I was gone.

“Miz, is there anyone who could corroborate that you didn’t leave the school?”

“No. As far as I know, none of the students stuck around.”

“Did you see Everett Morningside today—well, I guess that would be yesterday—before you found his body in the supply room?”

“No.”

“Did you talk to him on the phone?”

“No. The last time I spoke with him was the night before, at nine p.m.”

“What did you talk about?” Jim asked.

“Our dinner plans for tonight, I mean last night. You know what I mean, Jim?”

“Yes. Did you know Mr. Morningside was married?”

“Whoa, Nellie,” Verna said. “Miz, don’t answer that.”

“Why not?” Jim asked.

“Because I said so.”

Jim’s face pinched. “Miz, were you and Everett in a romantic relationship?”

“Nope, not that one either,” Verna said.

Jim sighed. “Okay, had you ever met Mrs. Morningside?”

Gram looked at Verna who shrugged and said, “Just yes or no, Miz.”

“No,” Gram said.

“How long had you known Everett?” Jim took a sip of coffee.

“Since he took over the old Jasper Theater about six months ago. He had that open house, you all remember?” We nodded. “He’d heard about my champagne cookies and hired me to make some.”

“I remember that,” Jim said. “They were good.” He smiled.

I didn’t remember Gram baking the cookies, but I remembered them at the open house.

Verna raised her hand and said, “I’d like to ask everyone a question and I’d like it on the record. Before tonight, had anyone in this room met Mrs. Morningside? I’ve never seen or heard of her before, and I meet everyone. Everyone hates us attorneys until they need one, and I’m the only good one close by, so the world sucks up to me, even if they don’t like my company. I would have met her if Mr. Morningside had wanted us to meet her. So, anyone else?”

“No, Verna, I hadn’t met her,” Jim said.