Poisoned Pin: A Cozy Mystery (Brenna Battle Book 2) (17 page)

If I was completely honest with myself, my gut said all of this had been one big mistake. I was looking in the wrong direction. Part of me wanted to trust my gut and cut my losses, but the other part of me screamed that this was my only lead. My only hope of uncovering the truth, of getting Harvey back home, of knowing he’d be safe there, of knowing no one else, including me, would be harmed.

I found Sammi waiting outside the window as I jumped out. She held the walkie talkie up and waved it at me. I took it from her and she scowled, but didn’t argue.

“Did you find out anything?” she asked.

“If you go home right now and go to bed, I’ll tell you tomorrow,” I said.

Sammi grudgingly agreed, and I breathed a sigh of relief and sneaked back up to my room.

I contemplated just disappearing before dawn, but surely no one would miss the sound of the car starting and pulling away. The Feldmans might find that suspicious and have a look around, realize they’d had a break-in, and send the police after me. As much as I wanted to get out of there, it was better to wait until morning. I scrubbed at the quilt for a while with a wet, soapy towel, then gave up and yanked it off the bed and stuffed it into a hamper I found in the bathroom closet. Hopefully the Feldmans would just think I was being helpful, throw it into the wash, and be none the wiser when it came out nice and clean.

I set my alarm and curled up on the bed and wrapped myself in the sheet. I was exhausted, ready to give in to the sweet oblivion of sleep.

***

Early the next morning, I opened up a video chat with Blythe, and her face appeared on the screen. She squinted.

“Brenna? I can’t see you. Move the phone where I can see you.”

“You don’t need to see me. So how do I do the foundation again?”

“I need to see you putting on the foundation. It’s the
foundation
, you know? If you get that part wrong, it’s going to mess everything up.”

Fine. I propped the phone on top of a big scented candle on the shelf by the sink.

“Brenna!” Blythe cried in horror. “What happened to your face?”

“My face is fine,” I lied.

“It looks like it’s on fire. What did you do to it?”

It
felt
like it was on fire, too. And it was so early. Too early in the morning for the relating the complete disastrousness of my joint attempts at sleuthing and Beauty Queen-ing. “You know that mask you had in your makeup bag?”

Blythe gasped again. “What did you do? Leave it on all night?”

“Uhh … ”

“You did? Didn’t you read the directions?”

“Of course I didn’t read the directions!”

“Brenna, you’re not making any sense. I can’t believe you used up my mask! What were you thinking?”

She so sounded like our mother, I snapped, “Sometimes you just need a mask!”

“Oh-kay.” Blythe visibly calmed herself. “I’m sorry, Brenna. I shouldn’t have left it in the bag.”

That was code for
I should’ve known you were too un-ladylike to be able to handle the Great Burning Powers of the Mighty Face Mask. Silly me, I thought you could be a Real Girl after all.

“You’re going to need to put the foundation on extra thick now,” she advised.

Blythe talked me through the makeup. I only had to start over twice, and she only paled in horror a half dozen times as I confessed the powder she wanted me to use was ground to—well, powder. And now ground into the bedroom quilt.

Somehow I managed to piece together a face worthy of Gabby Young. Then I scribbled an apology note about the lamp, left the key and what I hoped was enough money to buy another one on the nightstand, and lugged my things downstairs as quietly as possible.

From the smell of things as I hastily exited the house, Mr. and Mrs. Feldman were busy cooking up a French toast storm. My stomach groaned in protest as I slipped past the kitchen and out the door. Fortunately for me, Mrs. Feldman didn’t catch me until I’d dumped my suitcase into the trunk of the rental car.
 

Mrs. Feldman appeared on the front steps, apron-clad, smiling warmly, and waving. “Are you sure you don’t want breakfast?”

“Oh, no. I don’t eat breakfast. Thank you very much for your hospitality!” I flashed what I hoped was a dazzling beauty queen smile. As much as I could dazzle with my slightly un-white teeth.

Maybe I should whiten my teeth. I’d never really thought about it, but all those years of coffee and Coke guzzling were starting to show.
Ugh!
I was getting too much into this role. Becoming obsessed with my own appearance. Instead of my old habit of focusing on how I could smash my next opponent to the mat. That was much healthier and more enjoyable, for sure.

Mrs. Feldman jogged over to me. “I don’t think we’ve ever had a real beauty queen stay with us. I was so curious about your pageant … work … I looked you up online, but I couldn’t find anything.”

My fake, frozen smile started to melt like a popsicle in July. Blythe and I had both agreed it would be wrong to impersonate an actual beauty queen. A specific person.
 
You know, more wrong than checking into this establishment under false pretenses, pretending not to be myself, snooping, lying … It was for a good cause, right? But then there was the issue of the Feldmans looking me up. If I’d been a pageant contestant, my name would surely show up somewhere in the results online.

“Um, I compete under a stage name. Gabby Young is just too … Gabby, you know?”

“Oh! Well, I think it’s lovely.”

“Anyway, I like to keep my stage name top secret.”

Mrs. Feldman frowned. She was probably wondering why a beauty queen would want to keep her stage name top secret. Or maybe why I hadn’t just checked in under my stage name.

“I’m so sorry. I really have to go. Thanks again for everything!” I flung myself into the driver’s seat and sped off, wondering how long it would take her to discover the aftermath of Gabby Young.

I met Blythe at the car rental place, as we’d arranged. After I’d turned in the car, I growled, “You drive,” and got into the passenger seat of the truck.

“Well?” Blythe said, her patience clearly wearing thin, since I’d offered her no information about my stay at Blackberry Inn. “How did it go? What happened?”

“I don’t think it was them. We’re at square one.” I relayed the conversation I’d heard, leaving Sammi, the broken trellis, the broken lamp—and of course the breaking in—out of it. “I just want to get home and take a shower.”

After my shower and the application of copious amounts of some kind of special cream Blythe gave me onto my sunburned-looking face, I found Blythe sitting on the couch, phone in hand. She looked up at me with en expression of sternness and curiosity. “There’s an interesting article that just posted on the Bonney Bay Blaster site.”

“Oh?” My stomach fluttered anxiously. The Bonney Bay Blaster was the only truly local news source. It had recently been taken over by Helen Rolf, a Bonney Bay librarian.

“Apparently the Feldmans just reported a break-in at Blackberry Inn. Helen says this story is still developing. So far, though there was some damage, the only thing missing appears to be a bathroom towel.”

I smiled sheepishly. And then I told Blythe everything.

“Maybe we should just let this go,” Blythe said. “Leave it to the police.”

“Maybe you’re right,” I said. But how? How could I just let it go?

26

I pulled my baseball cap down, hoping the bit of shadow it cast over my face helped to hide its redness. It was a beautiful afternoon, but I was in a melancholy mood. I’d told Blythe I needed some air, and I’d headed out in my running gear. My jog, as usual, took me to the park. My feet, seemingly with a will of their own, carried me across the lawn and to the cliff’s edge. I walked past the brambly edges, to a spot where lawn met bare rock. A spot where I could truly stand on the edge. I stood there, watching the sparkling sun bounce off the water, watching the ferry to the south, then regarding the chain of mountains jutting out in the distance, to the north. I couldn’t help it. I pictured the tragic deaths that had taken place here so long ago, the tragic way their story now had a hold on Harvey. It seemed so out of place amidst the beauty of Bonney Bay, so unreal, so—

Something hit my back. A pair of hands. It was unmistakable. I lurched forward and lost my balance. In the same instant, I tried to turn around and reach back to grab whoever it was. My fingers touched something, then with a jerk they slipped off. I was falling. There was no changing that. I tucked my head and rolled, as I’d learned to do in judo, as I’d done tens of thousands of times over my career. I angled myself away from the water. If, in spite of my best efforts, I hit my head and lost consciousness, the last place I wanted to end up was in the water. There were parts of this cliff that cut straight down, but here, thankfully, there was more of an incline, where jagged boulders were piled up.

My arm scraped against something. The rocks were hard and sharp underneath me. One of my feet smacked against them as I came to a stop. My side, which I’d landed on, stung. It would soon ache. For now, my adrenaline was pumping and the pain barely registered, much like during a match. I scrambled up right away, not to a full stand, but to a crouch. Whoever had shoved me could be coming to finish me off. I looked over the rocks, to the top of the cliff. Man, that was a long, hard fall.

A figure stood there, silhouetted in the sun. I was torn between wanting to make out who it was, to give chase, and fear that he or she was armed. The figure appeared to startle. He or she must’ve seen that I was not only alive, but conscious. Then my attacker turned and ran. I gave up all thoughts of ducking and hiding and began frantically scraping my way back up the rocks. This person wanted me dead. I had to find out who it was.

I stood there—really, half-crouched there, since my back didn’t seem to want to straighten completely—heaving, scanning the street. There was no way to know which way my assailant had gone. With shaking hands, I pulled my phone from my pocket. My screen was cracked, in spite of the protective cover that was supposed to prevent such damage. To be fair, I guess it wasn’t designed to protect a phone from taking a tumble in its owner’s back pocket while she’s pushed off a cliff. It still turned on, though, and I dialed 9-1-1. It took me three tries to get those three numbers right, but finally I got the operator.

“Someone’s trying to kill me,” I said as soon as she answered.

“Did you say someone’s trying to kill you?”

“Yes, someone just pushed me off a cliff!”

“Do you need an ambulance?”

“I need the police! They’re getting away. They’re going to get away with it.”

“Just give me your location, and we’ll get the police there.”

I knew it was her job to be calm. But her even tone made me want to shake her. Someone tried to kill me. Again. There was another murderer in Bonney Bay, and he or she was after me!

I took a deep breath and tried to speak clearly. “Market street. Right at the edge of the park. It just happened. Send someone quick, and they might still be able to catch them. Please.”

I stayed on the line not only because the operator asked me to, but just in case the would-be killer returned to finish the job.

Wait. Here I was, standing right where they’d left me. Making it easy for them to come back and do just that. Sure, they’d likely expect that I’d called the police, and stay away for now, but what if they thought I’d gotten a good look? I’d stared right at my attacker; I just couldn’t see because of the sun. If they didn’t know that, they might think their best bet was to come back and shut me up. Or, they could be just plain nuts. Like Harvey.

I couldn’t help the thought popping into my mind.
Harvey wouldn’t kill me
, I told myself. I liked Harvey, but the truth was, I didn’t really know what he would or wouldn’t do. I ducked behind a bush, just to be on the safe side, and watched the street, willing the police to come. Willing
Will
to come. Oh, how I wished I could call him. But I didn’t know his number by heart, and with my cracked screen, I couldn’t see my list of contacts.
Note to self: memorize Will Riggins’s private number
. For safety purposes only. Not because I wished I had his arms, in particular, around me right now.

Finally, I heard the blare of sirens, and in a whirlwind of flashing lights, a police vehicle came to a stop at the edge of the park. I jumped out from behind the bushes, overwhelmed with gratitude.

“Freeze!” said a young officer I’d never seen before. Must be the new hire, brought in to replace one of Bonney Bay’s finest, who was now awaiting trial.

There was a gun pointed at me. Holy moly. My hands shot up in the air, and I let the phone, still with the 9-1-1 operator on the line, drop to the ground. At least it landed in the grass this time. Unfortunately, I landed in the grass, right on top of it, a police officer on top of me. It was kind of a relief to let him tackle me to the ground. I’d had enough of having guns pointed at me lately. Once I realized what he was going to do, I reacted fast, checked my fighter instinct, and made sure my knees buckled, nice and easy.

You don’t need that gun, officer. I’m just a weak little lady
, I tried to tell him with my jelly-like body language. I guess I scared the newb, jumping out of the bushes like that while he responded to his very first murder scene. Very first crime scene, maybe. First arrest, even.

I didn’t bother trying to explain myself as he pulled my hands behind my back and cuffed them. At least if he was cuffing me, he probably wasn’t going to shoot me. This was just fantastic. Just absolutely fantastic. After you fall down a cliff, you don’t want a few words of comfort and perhaps a nice beverage—with a cookie. Nope. You want a cell phone digging into your bruised ribs and a knee in your back.

“Would you mind calling Officer Riggins, please?” I said. “He’s familiar with this case.”

“What case? There is no case yet.”

Don’t call my bluff, newb
, I silently challenged.

I heard another car pull up and someone get out, but all I could see was grass. The newb told me to get up. When I did, I saw that it was Chief Sanders. Instead of Will, I got the Bonney Bay Chief of Police himself. I didn’t know much about him. I tried to be optimistic.