Thrown Off: A Cozy Mystery (Brenna Battle Book 3) (4 page)

I squeezed her shoulder. I tried to think of something to say that wasn’t too cheesy for a ten-year-old, but all I could think of were things like,
You’re always a winner to me!
“I’m glad you’re here, Katie,” I said instead. Okay, so it wasn’t profound. But it was true.

“Thanks, Sensei Brenna,” Katie said. And she went to get her lunch.

Katie was sweet and funny. Unfortunately, she’d also earned the nickname
Klutzy Katie
for good reason. I’d made Sammi the first bulldog, figuring she’d get Katie first so she could have her new friend on her side, but Sammi had focused on capturing the other kids instead. Had Sammi known winning a silly game of bulldog would mean so much to Katie? Sammi liked to play tough, but she really did care.

The kids were still pretty riled up from their game as we sat them down at the two brand-new folding tables we’d bought at Costco. They were too busy sharing their greatest moments of Bulldog glory to pay much attention as Blythe began calling out names and passing around sack lunches. I helped Blythe get the right lunches to the right kids, then popped open the mini fridge and got out the salami and provolone sandwich with pepperoncinis I’d been looking forward to all day. I brought it to the table and sat down between Sammi and Blythe.

Sammi crinkled her nose. “Gross. What is that?”

“This,” I said, holding up half my sandwich, “is a glorious triumph of a sandwich.” I sighed dramatically. “I wouldn’t expect you to understand. Pesto, peppers, red onions…”

All the kids around the table punctuated each ingredient I listed with a chorus of gagging noises.

“One day, kids, you’ll grow up and understand what a
real
sandwich is.”

Katie rolled her eyes and took an exaggerated bite of peanut butter and jelly.

Sammi told Katie, “Please, do something if I ever get that old and senile.”

“Sammi,” Blythe rebuked her.

But I stuck my tongue out at the kid. That earned me an elbow from my sister.
Grow up, Brenna
. Could I help it if I liked these kids more than I did most grown-ups? Good thing, I guess, since I was stuck with them all day this summer. And most of the evening…

I was going to miss them in the fall. Running this judo camp was kind of like being at the camp I’d dreamed of when I was a kid. Except the mats weren’t in the woods, and there was no fire pit or marshmallow roasting. Or swimming pool, which would’ve been especially nice yesterday. I’ll bet I could’ve boiled pool water just by cannon-balling into it, I was so hot. But still, rolling around the mat with friends, laughing all day. Feeling that hard-work high. I would’ve loved this when I was a kid. Which was probably why I was loving it now. I stared out the window, at the light drizzle sweeping over the sidewalk with each new breath of wind.

“Do you think it’s going to rain on the Fourth of July?” Ellie said.

“I hope not.” Katie took a juicy bite of her peach.

“I wanna be able to see the parade,” said Martin.

“And the fireworks,” Anthony added.

“Speaking of the parade,” I said, “how would you guys like to be in it?”

“On our bikes?” Jeremy took his finger out of his nose.
 

Blythe caught his hand and attacked it with a disinfectant wipe before he could rub it on the table or his shorts. I swear, he and Ellie had some kind of secret competition going on for the nose-picking championship.

“No, we’re going to make a float,” Blythe announced. “A Bonney Bay Battlers float. I ordered a banner. It should be ready tomorrow.”

Grace waved her hand—still clutching string cheese—in the air and bounced in her seat. “I wanna hold the banner!”

“We’ll all take turns holding it,” Blythe said.

“Are we going to wear our gis?” Katie asked tentatively.

“No,” I assured her. “I think we’ll go for patriotic clothes. If it clears up, it could get pretty hot wearing gis in the sun.” Too bad I hadn’t gotten around to having Battler T-shirts made. That would’ve been perfect.

“But we should do some throws on the float. When it stops, you know?” Sammi said.
 

“Yeah…” Katie said. “I guess I wouldn’t mind wearing my gi if we were
using
it, you know?”

Hmm
. Now there was an idea. Would the flatbed be big enough for a mat? Some of the kids didn’t quite have the judgment or control to pull something like that off and keep their
uke
, the person they were throwing, safe and on the float. But Sammi could do it. So could a few of the others…

My phone buzzed, and I checked to see who was texting me. It was Will. “Millie passed away. Thought you’d like to know,” it said.

Oh, no. Not Millie.
I blinked back tears and showed the message to Blythe, under the table.

Before I could respond to the text and ask, a new text answered my question. “They just pulled the plug. Doctors say there was no suffering.”

 
And nothing we could’ve done to prevent it. But maybe there was something we could do
abou
t it. I couldn’t stop thinking about that tourist and what she thought she saw. Was it really just a terrible accident? Had someone knocked the ladder over, even unintentionally?

Maybe I just needed to face the fact that there wasn’t always something I could do about whatever went wrong. Sometimes, there wasn’t anything anyone could do. Life wasn’t always just. Sometimes sweet ladies with a gift for bringing beauty into the world fell off of ladders and died. Sometimes there was no one to be brought to justice. Sometimes there was no explanation to be found, except that sometimes death just
was
.

7

It was Saturday, our day off, and Blythe and I had carefully chosen a sympathy card and agonized over what to write in it for Millie’s husband, Marvin. Marvin owned The Engine, a hobby shop featuring model trains. Blythe had called the shop and confirmed that they were open today. I was a little surprised, but it was understandable. It was a beautiful Saturday during peak tourist season, and just like all the other shops in Bonney Bay, The Engine probably really needed the business. The day after his wife’s passing seemed a little soon for two near strangers to intrude on Marvin’s grief with our condolences, so Blythe and I were headed to The Engine to leave our card with Marvin’s employees.

I paused in front of the bright red shop door, watching a little
n
-scale train pass through a tunnel in a fake mountain and zip around the track in the window display.

Blythe squeezed my hand. “It’s so sad.”

I nodded. “Let’s see how they’re holding up in there.”

Inside the store, there was a soft undertone of motion, the gentle hum of tiny motors, underlying the whispers of browsing tourists. What was it about the train shop that seemed to call for whispers? Was it the meticulously set up tracks and miniature scenes surrounding the trains? Little made-up towns, not so different from Bonney Bay, frozen in time? Figures stuck in mid-step, mid-wave? Only the trains were alive, clicking along the track, whistling now and then. A little boy around three years old cried out in delight as one of the engines whistled and even released a puff of steam. But even that was hushed. Even such a little kid sensed the seriousness to these toys, to this kind of fun.

I might have thought it was because of Millie’s passing, but I’d been in there before and noticed the spirit of subdued joy. Today, there was an added air of somberness. The customers didn’t seem to notice. They all looked like they were from out of town. But a young store clerk whose name tag said
Raya
scanned the high shelves with puffy eyes. She stood on a stepladder to reach a small, colorful box. It wobbled a little, and I saw the brief flash of panic, then grief come over her.

“Here you go,” she said sweetly as she handed a grandmother a box containing a bright red caboose. Her smile was genuine but sad.

“Hello. Welcome to The Engine,” Raya said to me and Blythe.

“Thanks,” I replied.

The grandmother handed the box to a bouncing preschooler. “Be careful now.”

They headed for the register, and we lingered there as Raya put the step stool away in the corner.

“Can I help you guys with something? Looking for a gift?”

“Actually, we brought something for Marvin.” Blythe held up the purple envelope.

I said, “Do you think you could pass it along? I mean, if you’re going to see him?”

“Oh, of course. How thoughtful of you. Marvin came in for a few minutes this morning to help open. I’m sure he’ll be here to close. He’s just…devastated, of course. But The Engine is his baby. It was always his dream, to have this shop. I guess it’s all he has left.”

“Has he had the store for long?”

“Only about three years. And it’s been a real struggle.” Raya lowered her voice to a whisper. “Trains aren’t as popular as they used to be.”

“It’s a real niche thing, isn’t it?” Blythe, ever the diplomat, made
niche
sound elite instead of out of vogue.

“Yeah, I guess it is.” Raya smiled and even puffed up a little—in a good way. “But sometimes it’s hard to make
niche
pay. About Millie…I heard you were there when it happened. I heard they questioned a woman who took a picture of it.”

“Well…” Blythe said.

“She didn’t exactly have a picture of what happened. She had a picture of a person that she said was near the ladder.”

“Millie wasn’t clumsy.”

“But accidents happen,” I said.

“Sure, but what if it wasn’t an accident?”

I was itching so bad to text Will and ask him if they’d gotten hold of Glenda’s camera. Surely they planned to, just in case. I’d driven by the Cherry Bowl and seen the crime scene tape. Had that woman come down from County to dust the ladder for prints? Or had they just taken pictures? But I knew what Will would say. He couldn’t discuss an ongoing investigation. But he could tell me whether there
was
an investigation, right?

#

I checked my phone for a reply from Will. My last text, asking him if he was investigating Millie’s death, had gone unanswered even though I’d sent it hours ago, just after we left The Engine. Did silence mean
yes
, or did it mean he was busy? But then again, busy probably meant
yes
, too. I had to know, dang it! Well, I didn’t need Will in order to find out. If they were investigating, they’d question her friends and family, and of course her coworkers. Who just happened to be there, at or near the scene of the crime. If I wanted to find out what was going on, all I had to do was go to the Cherry Bowl.

“I feel like ice cream,” I announced.

“You want to go to Shaw’s for a sundae?” Blythe checked the time on her phone. “I think we can just get in before closing.”

Shaw Drug and Hardware Store was the oldest continuing operation of its kind west of the Mississippi and north of the Columbia. In addition to its ghostly legends that helped attract visitors to Bonney Bay, it also featured the best ice cream sundaes on the planet. My mouth watered at the thought of hot fudge oozing over whipped cream topped with chopped peanuts. Not to mention, mocha fudge was the featured flavor this week.
Snap out of it, Brenna!
I was on a mission. I had to know if Millie was murdered, and if the Bonney Bay PD was doing anything to find out.

“No, it
is
pretty late. I think I’m just going to go pick something up at the Cherry Bowl real quick.”

“Oh, okay. I’ll come with you.”

I hesitated. “We need to compile that student mailing list, remember? Do you think you could do that while I go pick something up?” I gave her a cheesy smile.

“Well…”

“I’ll feel so much better when it’s done. What should I get for you? Mint chocolate chip? Some sugar cones?”

“Yes! See if they have the chocolate dipped cones.”

“Okay.” Distraction successful! I didn’t want to involve Blythe in this just yet. Especially since there was technically no murder. She didn’t have quite the tolerance for snooping that I did. I had to save up that gung-ho sidekick capital for when I really needed it.

I decided to walk to the Cherry Bowl. It was just a few blocks away, and it was such a beautiful evening. The air was cool and all along the street, sprinklers were on. The air smelled like fresh water and salt air and flowers, the way only a summer evening in a little coastal town can. I breathed deep. It made me want to run all the way down to the beach like a kid and splash in the surf. For a second there, I forgot how cold the water was, even on the warmest days, thanks to currents from Alaska. No, this wasn’t Costa Rica. But it was beautiful.

I paused outside the Cherry Bowl. I felt drawn to the side of the building, where I’d last seen Millie. The crime scene tape was gone. Someone had pressure-washed the pavement. You could hardly tell any paint had spilled there. You’d never know that a terrible accident had occurred there, that a life had been cut short. I looked up at the mural. Empty, ghostlike outlines of buildings beneath a sky so well depicted, it seemed like the feathery clouds could float right by with the breeze. What would Takashi do with the mural? Hire another artist? Paint over it? Poor Marvin. What was he going to do? His life with Millie was no doubt left unfinished, just like her mural. They must’ve had all kinds of plans.

I headed inside and grabbed a bright red plastic shopping basket. Instead of heading straight for the ice cream aisle, I wandered toward the bakery and deli. I needed to do a little chit-chatting.

“Attention, shoppers,” Takashi said over the intercom. “The Cherry Bowl will be closing in fifteen minutes. Please bring your final selection to the checkout. We hope you’ll come back soon, and that your evening is a bo-o-o-wl full of cherries.” His voice was smooth and deep. Though he said the same thing every night, he never sounded bored. He sounded more like he was announcing a prize fight than a store closing.

I ran into Amy near the bakery. She was moving old baked goods onto the bargain rack.

“Brenna!” To my surprise, she hurried to me and gave me a quick hug.

When she released me, I could see the loss and weariness written all over her face. She had that kind of fair, pink-cheeked complexion that typically looked so young and fresh and carefree. It was so strange to see Amy like this.