The Iced Princess (22 page)

“And what'd you think, between the two images?”

“Judging from the last time I saw him, he looks a lot like the cleaner-living version, believe it or not.”

“That's good information for the police. Irene, I have a favor to ask you.”

“What is it?”

“I was wondering if you'd send Troy that letter we talked about, maybe write ‘Urgent' or ‘Important' on the envelope. If we can get it in the mail today, it'll be in St. Paul on Monday for sure. I know the P.O. number isn't in his name, but the same person has had the box for years, so it must be Troy, don't you think?”

“I would think so.”

“We have no way of knowing how often he picks up his mail, but if he's on text alert, he'll hopefully pick it up on Tuesday. Maybe Wednesday. It might be a long day waiting for him to show up, but I think it's worth a try.”

Irene made a lip-smacking sound. “Shouldn't the police be doing that?”

“Like I said before, this will save their resources. According to our police, they checked and there is no Troy Ryland who rents a mailbox at the downtown St. Paul Post Office. If we find out that he does, we will pass it along to them.”

“I'll do it on one condition; that you take me with you. Yes, Troy knows me, but I can make myself look different. Molly bought me a wig a few years ago. She asked me to wear it when I went with her to a fancy party.”

“Irene, it could get to be a very long day.”

“I think we can narrow it down some.”

“How?”

“Troy's father always said Troy would have to work an
afternoon shift because he was such a night owl. I think we'd be safe if we got there by noon.”

A couple came in the front door. “I have to go, but we'll talk later.”

“Okay, good-bye, Cami.”

—

T
he afternoon was surprisingly busy at both shops, but I found my mind often wandering back to thoughts of Molly. I hadn't used the shop bathroom since she'd died there, and had not yet given it a good cleaning. When I was finally alone in the shop, I walked over to the bathroom door, opened it, stood on the threshold, and stared inside without reaching in to turn on the light. It was a normal little room where something very abnormal had occurred. The light flickered on and off, making my heart thump in my chest. “That did not happen,” I said and shut the door.

I went in the storeroom and leaned against the wall until my heart rate slowed down to normal. It was possible all the stress was getting to me and I was hallucinating.

“Cami, where are you?” Pinky called out.

I stepped out of the room. “Here.”

“Erin gave me the sheet on Troy Ryland a couple of hours ago, and I was wondering if that's my copy.”

I smiled at the thought of what she wanted it for. “Not specifically. I may need it.”

“Whatever for?”

“Um, well, to compare it to someone else. So what do you think? Do either of the older versions look familiar to you, like the man that asked for the blonde that day?”

She shrugged. “I've looked at it like a hundred times, and all I can say is maybe. I'd need to see him in person.”

That could be happening sooner rather than later. “I know what you mean. He has pretty ordinary-looking features.” That reminded me of something else I planned to take care of. “I need to call my sister, unless you wanted something.”

“Not really. Erin and I are going to sit down for a while before I take off and hoped you would join us.”

“Sure, as soon as I make this short call.”

Pinky left when I picked up the shop phone and dialed my sister Susan's number. She sounded out of breath when she answered, “H'lo?”

“Susan, are you running?”

“Just up the steps from the basement to get the phone. So how is everything going? Mom and Dad have been worried about you. We all have.”

“Thanks. It's been an awful week, and we couldn't feel worse about Molly, but we're hanging in there as best we can.”

“You're strong, Cami. A lot stronger than I'd be if that happened to me.”

“Don't be too sure about that. Susan, I have a question that might seem strange. I'm wondering how you looked up the information on your house before you bought it. You know, like who owned it.”

“You're thinking of buying a house?”

“Well, sometime maybe. Someone wanted to know.” Yes, that someone was me.

“Oh, well, it's easy. Go to the county website and click
the tab marked property search, type in the address, and it should give you the information you need.”

That was easy enough. I jotted the instructions on a piece of paper. “Thanks, Susan.”

“We're looking forward to Thanksgiving dinner at Mom and Dad's. See you then.”

My parents liked having all of us under their roof at least once a month, and for every holiday possible. “Yes, see you then.”

If I didn't have a chance to look up Will's friend at work, I'd do it when I got home. Pinky and Erin were sitting at a table in the back area of the coffee shop, and I joined them. There was so much to tell them, I didn't know where to start. So I blurted out the juiciest bit first. “Clint kissed me.”

“Cami
,” Erin squealed.

“Cami
,” Pinky screeched even louder. Then they both grabbed my hands and squeezed until they turned blue.

“Ouch!” I said in protest, and they eased their grips.

“Tell us every single detail and leave nothing out,” Pinky said.

“There's not all that much to tell. He stopped over when I was making dinner. He hadn't eaten, so I invited him to join me, we ate, then he gave me a quick kiss good night, and left.”

“Pinky said not to leave anything out, and you are. Like did you kiss him back and how was it?” Erin gave my hand a tap.

“I had no clue he was going to do that, and I'm not sure if I kissed him back or not. It happened so fast. And I don't think it should happen again.”

“What are you talking about?” Pinky said.

“Because what kind of life would we have together? We'd be fighting all the time.”

Erin held up a hand. “Whoa, Nellie. You are jumping from point A to point Z here. There are lots of things that happen between those two points.”

“Whatever.”

And that was as much as I could say on the subject, because the subject himself walked into Brew Ha-Ha, and he wouldn't have been much of a detective if he couldn't figure out what we were talking about. It was obvious from the way Pinky and Erin kept looking from Clint to me and back again that I had told them about our evening. He smiled and shrugged his shoulders. “Camryn, do you have a minute?”

Great, those were eavesdropping words to Pinky. I nodded, stood up, and followed him into Curio Finds. “Something happen?”

“Why no, I stopped by to see if I could buy you dinner. I owe you one.” He had such a way with words.

“I don't look at it that way.”

“Well, you have to eat.”

“Clint—”

He lifted his hands like he was requesting a truce. “Let me start over. Camryn, it's been a tough week, and I think it's been especially hard on you. I thought going out for dinner might offer you a little distraction, help you relax.”

I didn't know whether to be grateful or suspicious. “Oh, well, thank you.” Any kind of distraction sounded nice. “Where were you thinking of going?”

“Maybe the golf course restaurant, the Golfers Glen. Have you been there since they've remodeled?”

I shook my head. “Do I need to change clothes?”

He looked me over from my teal pullover sweater to my black pants. “No, you're fine. You'll be done with work at six?”

“Yes.”

“How about I pick you up at your house at six thirty?”

“Okay.” That'd give me a little time to freshen up.

“Okay,” he said with a nod then headed out the door.

Erin and Pinky stepped in from the other side of the archway. They had been listening, all right. “Cami's got a date, Cami's got a date,” Pinky said in a singsongy voice, sounding more like a six-year-old than a thirty-six-year-old.

“You two! I feel like we're back in high school half the time. The only reason I said yes is because I was too tired to say no.”

“Uh-huh, and you have to eat,” Erin said.

I patted my hips and smiled. “Yes, I'd hate to waste away.”

—

B
efore I closed up for the day, I stuck my head in the shop bathroom and wiggled the light switch. “Okay now, no more monkey business. You're off, and you need to stay that way.”

I hurried home, not planning to do more than freshen up, but I decided to jump in the shower instead. I let the hot water pound on my back for a minute as I soaped up then rinsed, wishing the cares of the week could wash away, too. Like that was remotely possible.

When I climbed out of the shower, there wasn't much time to spare, so I dressed first, in case Clint was early. I put on a calf-length dark gray skirt and a light gray crewneck of the softest wool. It felt comforting when I stretched my
arms into it then pulled it around my middle. I added a sterling three-chain necklace to dress it up a tad.

I brushed my shoulder-length hair, put on a little makeup, then went to the front closet for my boots and coat. I was ready and waiting when Clint pulled up and stopped in front of my house. I flipped on the outside light, turned the lock on the door, and was on the front stoop by the time he got out of his truck.

He walked to the passenger side and opened the door. A gust of wind hit me. “Brrr,” I said. Clint helped me in then got in himself and drove the couple of miles to the golf course west of town. The upper level lot, next to the main restaurant entrance, was full. “They're busier than I would have expected this early. I'll park in the back, and we'll use that door.” As he drove to the lower lot, I realized that in his line of work, Clint would know all about back entrances.

As it turned out, it was the entrance the golfers used when they got off the course. We blew in the door with the wind and walked up the steps to the restaurant. The hostess recognized Clint. “Long time no see. Would you like to hang up your coats?” Clint helped me out of mine and disappeared into the coatroom with it for a minute.

When he returned, the hostess smiled and asked where we wanted to sit. “We've got a big anniversary party going on in the main dining room, so it's a little noisy in there. But there are seats in either the sports bar or the smaller dining room.”

Clint looked at me. “The smaller dining room okay with you?”

“Sure.”

“Right this way.” The hostess led us to a room with
double-wide glass doors that could be pulled shut for private gatherings. There were a few tables available, and she seated us near the back, on the other side of the area where the waitstaff had a counter for their supplies. She laid menus on the table. “Your server will be with you momentarily.”

I looked around at the woodsy décor. “It's nice in here.”

“Even better, the food is great.” He picked up the menus and handed one to me. After I'd had a minute to study it, he said, “What looks good to you?”

Beef tenderloin, grilled jumbo shrimp, baby back ribs, pasta dishes. There was nothing on the menu that didn't look good. My eating habits had been more miss than hit the past few days. “What are you going to have?”

“Prime rib.”

I took another look at the menu and debated for a minute. “I'll go with the seafood platter.”

We talked about life in general as the server brought us wine, took our orders, and delivered our meal in courses. Clint was genial and did not make one aggravating comment throughout the entire evening. When we'd finished, the server scooped up our plates. “Can I offer you dessert, coffee?” she said.

Please say no to the coffee, Clint.
“I don't even have room for a sip of water. Thanks, though.” And Clint shook his head.

The server left, and I closed my eyes for a second, savoring my satisfaction with the delicious meal.

“Let's get you home. We don't want you falling asleep here, especially if you snore.” He sounded serious.

My eyes popped open and found Clint's. I hoped to find a smile on his face, but it wasn't there. The man was hands down the most exasperating person I'd ever spent both
professional and personal time with. “You need to work on your bedside manner, Doc.”

His eyebrows rose, and he picked up the check the server had left on the table.

We were both quiet on the way to my house. He pulled into the alley in the back of my house and parked next to my garage. “It was a very nice dinner, Clint. Thank you.”

“Sure. I better walk you to the door. It's way too dark in your backyard. When we talked about it, I thought you were getting a security light.”

“It's on my list.” Well, it sort of was. I thought of it now and then.

We got out of the car, and Clint left it running, which eliminated the awkward moment of wondering whether to invite him in or not. We reached the back door—safely, I might add—and my keys were in my hand ready to unlock it. I turned around and faced Clint. “Thanks again.”

“You're welcome. Maybe we can do it again sometime.” He leaned in, and as his face came closer, it felt like everything was happening in slow motion. When his warm lips finally closed over mine, it took my breath away, and when the kiss ended, the most embarrassing gasping sound came out of me. It was so loud it even gave Clint a start. His body tensed, and his hands tightened on my arms. “Are you all right?”

I nodded, mortified beyond words, and went into my house, grateful there were no backyard beacons shining on my ruby red face.

T
he next morning I woke up early, trying to remember if I was supposed to work or not. Pinky and I took turns covering for each other on Sundays. Neither shop was overly busy, but they were profitable enough to warrant keeping them open. Brew Ha-Ha was busier in the morning, and Curio Finds had the bulk of the afternoon business. We also kept shorter hours, from 8:00 a.m. to 3:00 p.m., instead of 7:00 a.m. to 6:00 p.m.

The upsetting week had thrown me off kilter, and it took me a minute to figure out it was Pinky's Sunday. I stretched and smiled, thankful Molly's ghost had not invaded my dreams. But then I remembered my awful-sounding gasp after Clint kissed me. Why had my body betrayed me like that? I had to think it was for the best, really. Just because Clint was the most talented kisser who'd ever shared that
skill with me, that did not mean we should have a personal relationship.

The ringing phone surprised me, and I rolled over and picked it up from its holder. “Good morning.”

“Morning, Camryn, it's Emmy.”

I sensed anxiety in her voice and sat up straight, waiting for the next shoe to drop. “Emmy, what is it?”

“Well, you know the police found something here that they say is poison, so my neighbor Lester came over to help me try to figure out where it could have been hidden. I thought I'd see what things had been disturbed or were missing.”

“Did you find something?”

“Yes, I finally did. A box that had come from my husband's shop is gone. It was on a shelf in the garage. I surely couldn't understand why they would have taken that. And then I realized that must be where whoever is trying to frame me put the cyanide.”

Emmy believed someone was guilty of planting the evidence, but who in Brooks Landing knew of her past? And even if they did, they'd have a lot of dots to connect to come up with a scheme in a very short period of time.

“Emmy, how about I come over to your house and we talk about it?” I'd check with Mark to see if I could tell her what was in the box with the cyanide.

“That would be nice, Camryn. You and Lester are the two I trust the most here in Brooks Landing.”

“Thanks.”

When we hung up, I phoned Mark and asked him what Emmy was allowed to know. “It's evidence that will be used in court. Her attorney will have access to all the information,
so there should be no problem. Clint probably told her about it when he questioned her, but you can double-check with him.”

I would not be doing that. “Okay, I appreciate it. So, what are your plans for the day?”

“Working, but it's my Friday so I have the next three off.”

“Sounds good, Mark. I'll let you get back to it.”

I wanted to get to Emmy's as soon as possible, so I condensed my morning routine to brushing my hair and teeth and pulling on jeans and a sweatshirt.

Emmy opened her front door before I rang the bell. Lester was standing beside her, and it struck me that they were a very nice-looking couple. They both had snow-colored hair and intelligent eyes. “Distinctive” was the word I'd have used to describe them. “Come in, Camryn. I didn't expect you so soon. We're having a cup of tea, if you'd like some.”

“Thanks.” We went into the kitchen where their cups were waiting. A decorative teapot from a bygone era was in the center of the table. Emmy got a cup out of the cupboard for me. We all sat down, and Emmy poured tea into my cup. It was an herbal blend, and I took a decent whiff but detected no smell of almonds. Not that I was paranoid; it was only a precaution.

“Emmy, if it's all right, I'd like to go back to when you were arrested and Assistant Chief Lonsbury questioned you.”

“What do you want to know?” She set her cup in her saucer.

“Did he tell you where they found the evidence?”

“Yes, he said it was in the garage, but he didn't go into specifics. That's why I thought to look there. And now I know it must have been in a box from my husband's shop.”

“What else was in it?”

She shook her head. “I don't know. I hadn't looked through the boxes yet. My husband was a carpenter by trade and rented a warehouse space for his tools and supplies. He had a little shop inside of it where he did different projects, woodworking, mostly small items like birdhouses to give to friends, things like that.”

“Did he use glass in his projects or make anything out of glass?”

“Well, not that I know of . . . Wait a minute.” She looked from Lester to me. “Let me back up here a minute. When I was in jail for my husband's death, his friend Darwin asked me what I wanted to do with all his tools and supplies. There was no reason to keep renting the warehouse, so I asked if he'd mind selling or giving away everything except maybe what he was working on in his little shop.”

Emmy got up, went to the living room, then came back holding a glass ornament in the shape of a Christmas tree. It was intricately etched on both sides. “After I was acquitted, Darwin came over to my home and gave me this. It was on my husband's workbench. It even has my name on it.”

“It's beautiful. So your husband also did glass etching?”

“Not that I knew about until then. I think it was supposed to be my Christmas present. He was always working on something.”

“He must have had a big assortment of tools,” I said.

“Hold up here,” Lester interrupted. “Glass etching, you say?”

Emmy and I both turned to him.

“I seem to remember one of my clients years ago telling me about this glass and metal etching hobby of his where
he used cyanide something or other. He gave it up after he got sick and nearly died. He wasn't wearing safety glasses and splashed a drop in his eye. Lucky for him he got medical help right away.”

“Oh my Lord, that's awful. Howard never told me he worked with cyanide. Maybe so I wouldn't worry. His shop was his sanctuary, and I didn't pry until he showed me his finished products. Lester, you said he could have used cyanide to etch the glass on this ornament?” She held it up.

“It seems like a good possibility from what I know,” he said.

Emmy frowned and thought a minute. “Howard came home that day, said he wasn't feeling well, and collapsed. He had a cut on his arm. I remember looking at it and thinking that it didn't look bad enough to make him pass out. I thought he had been out on a job, but he could have been at the warehouse. Our house was just a couple of blocks from there.

“I called nine-one-one, but it was too late. Of course I thought he'd had a heart attack, but the medical examiner suspected cyanide. He had smelled an almond-like odor on Howard. I surely hadn't smelled any such thing.”

I interrupted. “You couldn't smell it?”

She shook her head then went on. “The police looked at my husband's job log and mapped out where he had been that day. There was no mention of being at the warehouse, and there wouldn't have been. Howard only recorded his paying jobs. The police eventually determined I'd done it because I had access to chemicals at the hardware store. And there was a twelve-bottle case missing from the store's inventory.”

“Really?”

“The owners of the hardware store didn't suspect me until Howard was poisoned. And the other thing they looked at was Howard's very large life insurance policy. We'd had our ups and downs over the years, but I loved him with all my heart.”

I reached over and put my hand on hers. “If Howard had been using cyanide and splashed it on his cut, that might have been what caused his death. You need to tell your story to the police.”

Lester nodded. “And they should be able to tell whether the cyanide that was in your garage—if it was your husband's—is the same stuff that killed Molly. I watch those forensics shows, and they solve cases similar to that every now and again,” Lester said.

I felt a ray of hope for Emmy. “Lester's right. There must be different grades of the poison. Is it okay if I call Mark?”

Tears formed in Emmy's eyes, and she nodded.

I phoned Mark, and he arrived a few minutes later. His sidekick Clint wasn't far behind him. Emmy's story trumped any personal embarrassment I felt when his eyes met mine. The two officers listened intently and wrote down the details of what Emmy now surmised had happened to her husband. She showed them the ornament at the story's climax.

“If what you're telling us turns out to be true, that would explain why there were no fingerprints on the cyanide bottle. He would have been wearing gloves if he was working with that chemical. I figured the killer wore them to hide her—or his—prints,” Clint said.

Emmy shook her head. “When my husband died, I had no idea how he could have been poisoned. I guess we still don't know what happened for sure. I was an easy one for the police to blame.”

Clint pursed his lips. “We'll make sure all the tests we need are run right away. And when the results come in, hopefully you can get your life back.”

The look Emmy sent him said that wasn't possible. But then she and Lester caught and held each other's eyes, and it seemed to me things were looking up for both of them.

—

I
got home late morning and found the note I'd left myself on the kitchen counter, reminding me to find out what I could about Will Dalton's buddy. Before I dove into the search, I checked in with Pinky. She said she was doing fine managing the shops, no problem. We had made a pact that if it was an unusually busy day, one of us could call the other one in. It had happened a couple times over the past few months.

I grabbed a protein bar as a late breakfast treat then went into the spare bedroom that also served as my office. I opened the laptop and followed Susan's instructions. They worked like a charm, and I navigated through the site in no time. I typed Will's friend's address in the property search line, and in seconds I had the information. The house was owned by Bryan George.

Next, I looked up the law firm Will Dalton worked for, Turner and Marshall. I knew it was one of the top ones in the Twin Cities area and learned it was the fourteenth largest with 63 lawyers. The largest one had 254, and next largest was close behind with 251. I did a search of the firm's attorneys and found something that got my attention. Congratulations were in order for Bryan George, who had made partner on Thursday, November 13. He thanked his mentor, William Dalton, for the recommendation. November 13. That was
two days after Molly died and the day before her service. Given those circumstances, it seemed in poor taste to post his promotion at that particular time, whether it was scheduled or not. They should have held off for a week or two out of respect for Will Dalton.

Emmy phoned when I was logging off the computer. “Camryn, there is something I keep forgetting to tell you about that day, the day Molly and I started at your shops. The day she died.”

My heart rate picked up a beat, hoping she'd remembered something about a man who acted strange or out of place. “What is it?”

“I need to apologize to you and to Pinky. And I can't tell you how much I wish I could tell Molly that I'm very, very sorry.”

“Sorry for what?”

“For being so crabby. I was not myself that day at all, and I'm not sure why. I took it out on Molly, and the only reason I can think of is I was afraid she'd do well and I would fail. I felt insecure and worried I'd do something wrong like break one of your precious pieces.”

No, Ramona Zimmer had done that instead. And she had yet to apologize or at least pay for the snow globe. “Emmy, we were all nervous about how it would go, and that might have made things tenser than they should have been. It's not necessary, but I accept your apology.”

“Thank you, Camryn. I'll talk to Pinky, too.”

“She'd like that.”

After we disconnected, I phoned Irene Ryland to ask her about writing a letter to Troy. “Cami, I took to heart what you said yesterday and wrote the letter this morning. I wrote
‘Urgent' and included my return address on the envelope. And what I said in the letter is about Molly, so it is urgent.”

“Yes, it is. Thank you for doing that. I'll run over now and pick it up then drop it off at the post office. If it's collected tonight, or even first thing in the morning, it'll be in St. Paul by Tuesday morning for sure.”

“You don't have to do that. I can mail it.”

“I was going to go out, anyway, so it's no problem, really.” I wasn't being completely honest with Irene, but I had thought about stopping by the shops.

“All right.”

—

W
ith the letter safely mailed, I stopped in to see Pinky. A few customers were sitting at her front counter, and she was wiping off tables in her back area. No one was browsing in Curio Finds. “Cami, what are you doing here?” she said when she saw me. “And no offense, but you never wear jeans to work.”

I glanced down then shrugged. “It's my day off.” Actually, I had been so preoccupied with the day's events I hadn't even remembered what I was wearing. “Did Emmy call you?”

“Emmy? No, why? Or maybe I don't want to know.”

“No, it's good. It looks like she's going to be cleared of both murders.”

She threw the towel on her shoulder. “Get out of here. A miracle happen or what?”

“I'm sure she feels like it did.” I gave her a rundown of the morning and the new information the police now had to work with.

“That is just crazy. She had to be accused of a second
murder so she could be cleared of the first one. Well, maybe the first wasn't a murder after all,” Pinky said.

“I guess. So should we offer her the job back?”

Pinky waved her arms around in the air. “Holy moly, I can't even think about that right now.”

I nodded. “I get that. To let you know, I'm going to ask my dad if he can work for me Tuesday afternoon, maybe see if Erin can come in, too.”