The Iced Princess (23 page)

“Your dad? What are you planning?”

“I'm helping Irene Ryland out.”

Pinky left it at that. “Well, it seems like your dad is getting more comfortable leaving your mom from time to time.”

“And she may want to come along with him. It does her good to get out for a few hours.” I knew how much it lifted her spirits, and she was getting a little stronger every day.

—

W
hen I asked Dad if he could fill in for me, my parents decided they'd both mind the shop Tuesday afternoon. If Mom got too tired, Dad would run her home. I looked around my house, not interested in doing any of the things that needed to be done, but finally coaxed myself into doing some cleaning. Then I sorted through the mail I'd ignored all week.

That afternoon, I got a frozen dinner out of the freezer for a late lunch/early dinner. It wasn't the best lasagna by any stretch of the imagination, but it wasn't the worst, either. I ate it quickly, thinking about the letter Irene had written and wondering if Troy would take the bait. As I threw the paper container away, I noticed a penny on the counter. “Where did you come from?” I said, then I picked it up and carried
it to the blue and brown ceramic dish on the coffee table. As I dropped it in it, I nodded at the penny. “Between pennies from heaven, lights turning themselves off and on, and ghosts talking to me in my dreams, I wonder if I should seriously consider taking a long vacation, somewhere warm.”

—

I
got to the shop a little before nine on Tuesday morning so I could get some bookwork done before Curio Finds opened. Pinky waved me over. “Clint said to call when you got in. He said you weren't answering your cell phone.”

“Oh.” I pulled it out of my purse and saw I'd missed his call. “I must have been in the shower when he called. Thanks.” When I phoned him, I got good and better news.

“Camryn, the results on the contents of the envelope came back. No trace of a poison. Just a letter and some money. Are you at home?”

A letter and some money? “No, I'm at work.”

“All right, I'll be down there shortly.”

“Well?” Pinky nosed her face close to mine.

“Clint's bringing me a letter and money, minus any poison. The envelope from Ramona.”

“Wonders never cease.”

—

C
lint came by about ten minutes later. I was matching credit card receipts with the totals from the card company. He walked up to the counter carrying the envelope like it contained gold. When he gave it to me, I opened it up and withdrew the folded page. A crisp one-hundred dollar
bill fell out and dropped on the counter. My face must have registered surprise, because Clint said, “The letter explains that.”

I read it out loud. “‘Camryn, I'm the one who broke your Marilyn Monroe snow globe, and I'm sorry. But when I spotted you in the shop, I noticed you were wearing the same outfit you had on that day you were with my husband. That snow globe was sitting on the shelf in front of me, and I can't explain it, but I picked it up and dropped it. I heard it break, but I was too upset to do anything except leave. I am sorry and hope this covers its replacement.'” I looked up at Clint. “I think a hundred more than covers it.”

Clint lifted a shoulder. “I'll have to defer to you on that one. Our fear that the envelope contained poison has been alleviated, in any case. It seems Senator Zimmer did not intend to harm you, after all, and I see no reason to charge her with petty misdemeanor criminal damage to property.”

“No, she has enough problems, between her husband and . . . other things.” No need to tattletale about her male houseguest or explain why I was spying on Ramona in the first place. “I was right about one thing, though. She saw Molly from the back and thought it was me.”

“That's what she meant?” He shook his head. “Molly. But at least this envelope mystery is wrapped up, and that's good.” Then he stood there like he had more to say.

I finally broke the silence. “Thank you.”

Clint nodded then left. Apparently he wasn't ready to share whatever was on his mind. The figure of Marilyn Monroe, the one from the broken snow globe, was lying on the counter next to the cash register. I picked it up and looked it
over. “Well, Ms. Monroe, we can probably buy two more of you with the amount of cool cash Ramona left. Dad may know where to look.”

Pinky came into Curio Finds carrying a newspaper and looked around. “I heard Clint leave, so I'm hoping you're talking to yourself and not a ghost.”

I held up the figurine. “No, just wondering where to find another Monroe snow globe. Ramona gave me a hundred bucks for damages.” I picked up the bill with my other hand and waved it.

“As well she should have. Good. And speaking of Senator Zimmer, there is something you need to see. I was about to throw out the Sunday edition when I spotted this.” Pinky opened the paper and spread it on the checkout counter.

What I saw made my mouth drop open. “You have got to be kidding me.” There, front and center, was a picture of Ramona Zimmer and her brother Randy Arthur.
Her brother?
He was the man I'd seen carrying a suitcase into her house. The man I'd seen hugging her before catching a taxi. The man who had recently returned from five years of mission work in the Congo. The brother I'd heard about but had never met.

The article in the
Minneapolis Star Tribune
went on about Randy's ventures for the past twenty years, working with underprivileged people and helping in various ways. When I finished reading, I folded it up and handed it back to Pinky. “Wow,” I said. It was my turn to eat a big piece of humble pie. First, I worried that Ramona had tried to poison me. Twice. Then I convinced myself she was having an affair, thinking it was to spite her wandering husband. I looked at Pinky. “Pinch me.”

“Pinch you? You really want me to?”

“No, but I deserve it. I was ready to believe the worst about someone I trusted and cared about for a long time.”

Pinky gave me a gentle pinch in the arm.

It didn't hurt, but I said, “Ouch.”

“Ramona Zimmer turned her back on you when she should have believed you. Who can blame you for doubting her?”

—

I
was nervous the rest of the morning. Ramona Zimmer's strange behavior had led me to the wrong conclusions. I thought awful things about her and what her anger might have led her to do. Peter's actions had hurt her career; there was no doubt about that. I felt badly she was blind to that, but it was up to her to wake up and see things as they really were.

The other thing keeping me on edge was wondering if Troy Ryland was the actual renter of the P.O. box. And if so, would he get a text message from the post office about the letter and then go pick it up? I hoped Irene Ryland was right when she said Troy was a night owl and that we'd be safe getting to the post office after noon. One o'clock seemed like a reasonable time. The post office lobby was open until 6:00 p.m., so that meant it was possible we'd have to wait five hours for him. And he might not show up at all.

I took my cell phone off the charger then went into Brew Ha-Ha for something to do for the last few minutes before my parents relieved me. Pinky was washing cups and had splashed some drops of water on her face. She lifted her bony shoulder and used her shirt to swipe the side of her cheek dry.

“Holy moly, Cami, you seem jumpy.”

“It's just been a nerve-racking week. And we still don't know who killed Molly.”

“It's been tough, all right. Did Molly's ghost stop talking about her killers in your dreams?”

“Yes, for the last couple of nights, anyway. And I'd like to keep it that way.”

“I'm with you on that.”

“Hello!” I heard Dad call out from Curio Finds.

“We're in here,” I yelled back.

Mom and Dad were all smiles when they walked through the archway and greeted us.

“So where is it you have to go?” Dad said.

“Just helping Irene Ryland take care of things. No biggie, but she just wasn't sure how long it would take. I may not be back by quitting time, so I hope that's not a problem.”

“Of course it's not. You take all the time Irene needs,” Mom said.

I didn't like keeping our real mission a secret, but people tended to overreact sometimes. And something told me this might be one of those times. I scooted out of there before anyone asked me more questions. It was possible I'd cave and confess what Irene and I hoped to accomplish on our fact-finding project before our mission even got under way.

—

I
rene was ready and giddy—or close to it—with the prospect of uncovering the whereabouts of the man who had taken a sizable sum of money from her and bilked her daughter out of thousands upon thousands more. Her disguise brought a smile to my face. She looked like a wealthy socialite who was trying to hide her aging face from the world. She had on her
fur coat, knee-high black boots, a reddish auburn wig with too much hair for her small face, and big sunglasses that effectively covered much of what the wig didn't. With the collar of her coat touching her jawline, all that was visible was her chin, lips, the tip of her nose, and a bit of her cheeks.

“I hope I look all right,” Irene said.

“Oh my goodness, you look great. I would never have recognized you.”

I helped her into my car, and we were on the road to St. Paul with a common goal. We had programmed each other's numbers in our cell phone contacts so we'd be prepared to call each other if the need arose.

“Cami, I need to thank you again for letting me tag along. Molly was desperate and did a terrible thing, killing her stepfather. With Troy it's a different story. I was wrong when I panicked and gave him money to keep quiet about the crime. But then it got worse and worse.”

Molly, Irene, Troy. They were all victims and criminals at the same time because a man had abused his stepdaughter. “We'll do our best to help the police locate Troy. The first step is to prove he really is the one who's getting mail at the address listed in someone else's name.”

—

I
took the downtown exit off I-94 and drove to Fifth Street East, but then I discovered the entrance was on Robert Street and dropped Irene off there. There was no parking there, but I was lucky enough to find a spot on Fifth, a half block away. The catch was it was in front of a thirty-minute meter. I dropped coins in it knowing I'd have to add more every half hour.

Irene was waiting for me near the entrance and pointed. “The post-office boxes are over there.”

The area was L shaped, and I was surprised it wasn't much bigger than the one in Brooks Landing. There was a retail area behind double glass doors where clerks were waiting on a few customers. The wall in front of us was covered with mailboxes. They continued around the corner and were in size order, from small to large.

“Okay, we'll want to find the one Troy is renting, then we'll decide where to hang out and keep watch. And let's hope and pray we don't get kicked out for loitering.” Although there seemed to be a number of other people who were doing just that.

“Oh my, I didn't consider that possibility.”

“We may have to change our strategies as we go along, especially if it gets to be hours of waiting. Why don't you stay here and I'll go find the box so we know exactly where it is.”

“All right.”

“Keep your cell phone handy, in case.”

“It's in my pocket, and I'll call to alert you if I see Troy.”

“Great, and remember to snap a picture if you can.”

She nodded. “I practiced how to do that at home so I wouldn't look like I was taking a picture.”

“Very good, Irene. I wish I had thought of that.”

I headed over to the section with the boxes and located the right one around the corner. When I was headed back to join Irene, my phone rang. “He's here,” was all Irene said before the phone went dead.

I still had the phone to my ear when a man I recognized rounded the corner and almost ran into me. It was the man
who'd been into our shops and acted so strangely, looking around without uttering a word. That was Troy? My face must have registered disbelief or fear or uncertainty or all three, because that's how I felt.

His eyes opened wide when they landed on my face and he placed who I was. He didn't know was why I was there, for a few seconds, anyway. And if I had been smoother, he may have chalked it up to coincidence. I pulled the phone from my ear and hit the camera icon then tried to act like I was dialing a number when I snapped a picture. He didn't buy it. He lunged for my phone, but I stuck it in my coat pocket before he snatched it out of my hand.

“Give that to me,” he said and threw his arms around me.

“If you don't let me go, I'll scream for someone to call the police.”

I said the magic scare word—“police”—and he dropped his arms, turned tail, and took off. As I watched him run, all of a sudden Irene was there standing in his path. And then she risked life and limb by doing something I would never have predicted. Just before Troy reached her, she turned and bent over. He didn't have time to react, much less dodge her, and tripped. He did a nose dive across Irene's back, somersaulted, and landed on his backside.

He lay there for a while like he was trying to come to his wits. It was long enough for Irene to stand up, regain her balance, direct her phone at his face, and snap a picture. And long enough for a number of people to close in on him and ask if he was okay. But not long enough to get law enforcement there, even if I'd thought to dial 911. I'd hung back with the gathering crowd, gawking in stunned surprise.

Troy finally rolled over on his stomach and pushed
himself to his feet. He took off running, full speed. It was then I yelled, “Help! Did anyone call nine-one-one?” I got a bunch of head shakes and shrugs. I had a little trouble getting my phone out of my pocket with my shaking, sweating hand, but I managed.