The Double Wedding Ring (8 page)

I
made my way south toward the park. From the alley all I could see was garbage. There was no one out except me. Maybe wandering around outside
was
nuts, but I didn't care. If the shooter had meant to harm anyone, it would have already happened. At least that's what I told myself, as my heart beat a mile a minute.

When I got to the end of the block, I watched carefully for . . . I don't know exactly what I was watching for. It was unlikely someone would walk past me with an assault rifle, hand it over, and agree to a citizen's arrest. If I did encounter someone, it was far more likely he'd shoot.

Instinctively, I touched my hand to my right shoulder. It had been ten months since a bullet had grazed me there, and I still remembered the pain. An ill-informed misadventure while trying to investigate a crime, I reminded myself.

“Just like this.” It was my voice, but it still startled me.

I stuck a foot out into the street and when it wasn't shot off, I took a full step onto the sidewalk. I could see the park, and the street in front of it where Dru's car was parked. One of the Archers Rest police cars was parked in front of it, and two of Jesse's officers were checking the car for clues. Immediately, I could see that Jesse was wrong. If the shots had come from this direction, there was no way that someone could have hit the Someday sign straight on. The shooter had to have been across the street from the shop, closer to Jitters. It worried me that he was so shaken up he'd gotten such a simple thing wrong. It worried me more that he might have done it on purpose.

There was no point in standing near the car now, trying to test my theory further. I'd just be shooed away by the officers, who had, no doubt, gotten orders from Jesse to keep their distance from me. Instead I headed into the park.

It was small. Mainly our park was just a patch of grass, a children's play area, a white lacey gazebo, and an abstract sculpture that had been lovingly dubbed “Johnny” after our town's founder, John Archer. It would be difficult to imagine someone shooting from anywhere in the park and not being seen by a dozen witnesses.

I walked one side to the other, then examined the gazebo. The park was deserted, which made the job easier, but also slightly eerie. It was a cold day, not much activity in the park. Someone had obviously wanted to enjoy yesterday's snowfall, and brought a sled to the park, abandoned when they ran. Someone else had dropped an entire bag of birdseed. People had been here when the shooting began. But there were no injuries, no ambulances, and, thankfully, no coroner's vans. If the shooter had wanted to do more than send a message, I shuddered at the damage he could have done.

I walked back down Main Street toward Someday. I saw a state police car driving slowly, but otherwise the street was just as deserted as the park. I glanced in the storefronts, but I was more interested in the second floors and rooftops. Most buildings, like the ones that housed Jitters and Someday Quilts, were single story, but there were a few that had apartments above the stores—the movie theater, the bank, and an empty shop that was once Clark's Dry Cleaners. The office space above it was empty, too, as far as I could remember. And its position, two doors down from Jitters, would give it a pretty good angle to shoot all three of the sniper's targets.

“Miss, you okay?” The state police car had stopped, and the officer inside it was looking at me.

“I'm fine, thanks.”

“What are you looking at?”

I was about to share the fact that I was trying to figure out where the gunman had been. Jesse had gotten used to my sleuthing, annoyed by it sometimes as he was now, but used to it. The rest of the town seemed to alternately applaud me and worry about my sanity. Out-of-towners, particularly law enforcement personnel, tended to laugh at me.

“The building,” I answered. “I'm trying to see if the office above Clark's is occupied. I'm looking for a new office space.”

“This might not be the best time. There's been some excitement around here.”

“I heard about it. Do you know who did it?”

“We're still investigating. Might be a good idea not to wander around in the open until we're sure everything is okay.”

“Do you think the shooter is still in the area?”

“I don't know. That's why you should head directly to wherever you're going and not stand around in the street.”

“I suppose that's a good idea.” I knew it was a good idea, but Greg had said things were safe now, and that's what I chose to believe. I walked a little farther down the street, but the car kept following me.

“Can I ask your name?” The officer leaned out the window.

“Why?”

“We're just being extra careful.”

I almost argued the point, since it felt wrong to have to identify myself when I wasn't doing anything illegal. But arguing the point would take longer, and, in the end, likely put me in Jesse's crosshairs. “Carrie Brown,” I said, throwing out the first name that came to me. “I own the coffee shop and I'm thinking of getting into some Internet sales. T-shirts, pounds of coffee, that sort of thing.” I was babbling, but he seemed to buy it. If the officer reported back to Jesse that a Nell Fitzgerald was looking at buildings, I'd be in trouble fast. Of course, Carrie wasn't going to be thrilled that I'd thrown her into the middle of the situation.

When I got toward the end of the block, Natalie's car was gone, but the blue sedan was still there. The state police officer had lost interest in me and turned the corner, so I decided to check out the car. There was another parking ticket on the windshield, this one given about twenty minutes before the shooting began and signed by Jesse. It was for parking too close to a fire hydrant, a ridiculous charge since there wasn't a fire hydrant on this side of the street.

The car itself looked pretty new and well cared for. Maybe another rental. I looked in the driver's side window. The inside of the car was clean. The
New York Post
was on the passenger seat, dated a few days ago. A Starbucks cup in the cup holder meant that the driver had come from somewhere at least fifteen miles away since there were no Starbucks, or any chain restaurants, in Archers Rest or in the towns that surrounded us. The backseat was empty, but I noticed something on the floor, something shiny. I could tell that it was metallic, but beyond that I didn't know what it was. I tried the door, but it was locked. They were all locked. That was probably for the best. I really had no business looking into this car's windows just because Jesse had unfairly ticketed it. And I definitely had no business breaking into it.

I stepped away and moved back toward Someday. The best course of action was still getting Jesse to search the old Clark's Dry Cleaners. That is, if he'd listen, which, for the first time since I'd known him, I was worried about.

“It's you.” A man in an army jacket and dark pants, maybe ten years my senior, walked toward me. I didn't know him, but he seemed to know me—at least he had the relaxed stance and friendly smile of someone I was supposed to know. He was average height, average build, in fact all the average stuff except for piercing blue eyes.

“Have we met?”

“No, sorry.” When he reached me he held out his hand. “Robert Marshall; Bob. I'm new around here. Might be, anyway. I'm thinking of moving here.”

There was a lot of power in his handshake. “Nell Fitzgerald,” I said. “I'm a little confused. You know me somehow?”

“That must have sounded odd. It's just that I've seen you a couple of times, in the coffee shop and walking a golden retriever. I used to have a retriever. They're nice dogs.”

“They certainly are.”

“So where is he?”

“Barney—he's at home or in the shop where I work.” I pointed toward Someday Quilts.

“My sister makes quilts. Maybe I can get her something. I was away for a while and she took care of my dog for me.”

“That's very thoughtful of you. We do have a lot of nice gifts for quilters. And Barney will be happy to meet a new retriever friend if you do move here.”

His smiled faded. “My dog died while I was away. But maybe it's time for a puppy. I kept seeing you and Barney, and now you're standing just a few feet from my car.” He pointed toward the blue sedan. “It must be a sign that I'm meant to start a new life here.”

“Your car?” I eyed him more carefully, looking for the reason he'd received so much negative attention from Jesse. But I saw nothing out of the ordinary, except for his eyes, which were focused intently on me.

“A bit boring, but it's reliable,” he said. “Kind of like me.”

“It's nice,” I said, unsure of what else to say. “Where are you from? I mean, where would you be moving from?”

“The city. New York City, I guess I should say. I love it there, but it's a bit hectic, if you know what I mean.”

“I do. I used to live there, too.”

“And you moved up here? A woman after my own heart.” His wide smile grew even wider. “Good to see I'm not the only one. I drove up here just on a whim and I really like it. This town has a great vibe, don't you think?”

“It does.” I felt like an idiot for being so suspicious of a car, and a stranger. My amateur detective tendencies had been on high alert since Roger's body was found, and it was time to dial it back. “How long have you been in town?”

“A few days. I was on my way to Montreal on a vacation, and I kind of meandered here and stayed.”

I tried to size him up. I needed a suspect and here was a stranger up from New York ready to fit the part. But was that just a bit too convenient? People did drive through Archers Rest all the time, and it
was
a nice place. Maybe the only thing wrong about the guy was his timing.

“If you decide to move here,” I told him, “you'll like it. The people are very friendly and the town is beautiful. It's a nice community, big enough where you don't know everybody but small enough where even strangers have friends in common.”

“Except for the police department,” Bob said as he grabbed the ticket off the windshield. He read it and laughed. “This is my fourth once since yesterday,” he said. “I don't get it. Do the cops around here not like out-of-towners?”

“Small towns need their revenue,” I said, rather feebly. “The police station is just around the corner.” I pointed in the direction. “Why don't you go ask the chief about it: Jesse Dewalt. He's a reasonable guy. I'm sure if there's been some kind of error, he'll tear up the tickets.”

“You know the guy?”

I suddenly didn't want to answer. Bob Marshall was friendly, seemed harmless, and was, for whatever reason, getting a raw deal from Jesse. But maybe it was his intense eyes or maybe I just couldn't dial back my suspicious nature fast enough. Instead of telling him the truth, I said, “Like I said, it's a small town. Everyone knows the police chief.”

He nodded. “Well, Nell, I appreciate the idea. I'll go over there right now and find out what this is all about. But if he arrests me for whoever did that shoot 'em up earlier today, I hope you'll bail me out of jail.”

“Did you see what happened?” Instead of stumbling on a suspect, maybe I'd found an eyewitness. In which case I was making up for my bad detective work with dumb luck.

“Nope. Didn't see anything, but I heard about it.”

“From who?”

“Small town. Everyone knows what's going on, right?”

“Right.”

He smiled, got into his car, and drove away in the opposite direction to the police station.

I
loved the Archers Rest Library. It was big and old-fashioned, smelled of books and permanence. It was where the town gathered to plan events, celebrate holidays, and hold local elections. And it was lovingly cared for by Dru Ann Love, who had likely read every one of the thousands of volumes in the place. I'd never seen her without at least one book in her hand and today was no exception. When I walked in she looked up from Nancy Pickard's
The Scent of Rain and Lightning
, as if I were waking her from a dream.

“Are you okay?” she asked. “I heard about the shooting. Anyone hurt?”

“I'm good. Everybody's good. Well, Jesse got cut from some falling glass. But he's fine, it was just a small cut.”

Dru looked relieved. “Jesse seems to be having a really bad week. I don't know how his guys are going to be able to investigate two serious crimes at the same time. There are so few of them.”

“I'm sure they'll manage.”

“Well, you'll help, like always, but still . . .” Dru opened a drawer at her desk and pulled out a little box of cat treats. “I bought this for that kitten you found. I was going to bring it over at lunch. Just as a welcome gift. We had a mother around here a few months ago; I think she had a litter. Your kitten must be one of them.”

“What happened to the mom?”

Dru frowned. “There were some rats around the trash area out back, so the library board insisted on putting rat poison out. I found the mom and two little kittens dead about a month ago, right behind the library. I guess your little one was too smart to eat it.”

She wasn't a lost kitten, she was an orphan. I had assumed it, but now it was for sure. Smart enough to avoid poison, survive for a month on her own, and find shelter in a quilt shop on a bitterly cold night. It was a lot to go through for such a tiny little thing; I loved her already.

“Has your car been in front of the park all day?” I asked Dru after I'd tucked the cat treats in my purse.

“Since last night. After I closed up, I walked over and the car wouldn't start. So frustrating. Luckily Greg was driving by, and he offered me a ride home.”

“That was nice.”

“It was. He's very nice.”

“Greg didn't look to see what was wrong with the car?”

“He was going to, but I told him I was meeting Charlie Lofton at Moran's Pub and I was running late, so Greg dropped me there and Charlie gave me a ride home instead.”

“Charlie?” I smiled a little but tried to squash it. If there was a romance starting between the librarian and the third-grade teacher, it wasn't my place to gossip about it. Dru blushed, which saved me the trouble of asking questions. “Did you try to start your car this morning?”

“No, I walked to the library this morning. I meant to call Larry over at the garage to come look at it, but I forgot.”

“You never park it there, do you? That's a no-parking zone.”

“I did the monthly reports last night, so I was leaving later than usual. And when I do the reports, I'm the last one to leave the library,” she said. “The parking lot in back is so dark, especially in the winter. It just doesn't feel safe. So yesterday I asked Jesse if it was okay if I left my car in front of the park, where it would be under a streetlight, and he said it was. He's so understanding. You're very lucky.”

“I am.” My one small hope that Jesse was giving out far more parking tickets than usual as some revenue-raising scheme fell away. Jesse was, apparently, only giving tickets to strangers.

“This has to do with my car being used for cover for that crazy shooter, doesn't it?” Dru asked.

“Did you see anything?”

She shook her head. “You can't see Main Street very well from here, so I didn't see anything. But Greg came over and got my keys about ten minutes ago. He told me that the shooter may have been hiding behind my car.”

That made me want to ask Greg what he'd found, but knowing how sweet and eager to please Greg was, he'd tell me, and that would just get him into trouble with Jesse again. I was out of ideas. I turned to leave, but something nagged at me.

“Didn't you just get that car?” I asked.

“About eight months ago. Brand-new.”

“And it's already not starting?”

She shrugged. “I guess I got a lemon.”

“Had it ever happened before?”

“No, first time. It's actually been a great car, but last night, it just wouldn't start. Wouldn't even turn on.”

“Like a dead battery?”

“I guess. It was pretty cold last night. Maybe it just couldn't handle it.”

“Maybe. Did Charlie try to jump it?”

“No. It was just easier to give me a ride to my place than stand around in the cold trying to get it to start. We were both heading in the same direction.” Another blush punctuated that sentence. “I told him it would keep until today.”

Charlie, an exceptionally tall, exceptionally thin man with kind eyes and a good heart walked into the library at that moment, his entire class of giggling nine-year-olds trailing after him. He smiled when he saw me and nodded hello, but his eyes went quickly to Dru.

“I'm doing story time for Charlie . . . for the kids,” Dru explained.

Then before I had a chance to tell her what a great idea I thought that was, she hurried to meet the class.

At least today wasn't all bad news.

I walked out of the library into bright sunshine and a cold wind. The Archers Rest police were still by Dru's car, but as I walked down Main, I saw that a few officers from the state police were going up to the rooftops of some of the shops. I guess Jesse's theory about the shots coming from the park was only plausible to the officers under his command. I wondered how he felt about that.

Carrie was outside talking to the same officer who had warned me off the street earlier. I saw her pointing to the sign. She was just giving a statement, which as a good citizen she was required to do, but it felt a little disloyal. This was Jesse's town, and his investigation. Someone other than Jesse taking over the investigation didn't seem right. The hypocrisy of that thought didn't escape me, but at least I was trying to help Jesse.

At the moment, though, I wasn't being much help. All I knew was that Dru's new car didn't start the night Roger was killed; Jesse bombarded a stranger in town with tickets; a sniper shot up Main Street but no one got hurt; and Jesse's old police partner was killed outside Jesse's house . . . all within forty-eight hours. They might all be connected, some of them might be, or it could just be one giant, nightmarish coincidence. Like the fact that, in the midst of all of it, my parents were on their way to Archers Rest to talk my grandmother out of her wedding.

Despite all the frightening events in town, that last part was the only thing that I truly panicked about. I wanted to sit quietly and think things through, I needed to go back to the shop and work on my wedding gift for Eleanor and Oliver, but instead I headed toward home, hoping to figure out a way to keep my mother from dampening Eleanor's excitement and, even more impossible, to keep my parents from hearing everything that had been happening in town.