Give fudge a chance, p.24
Give Fudge a Chance, page 24
“Are you up to it?” I asked. “Because I can totally go check while you go to the Coffee Bean.”
“No, no, no,” she said. “I’m going, too. I think something’s wrong. She lives above a shop on Market Street. We can cut down the alley behind it and check her back door.”
Just then, a man wearing a hoodie barreled between us. “Hey!” I shouted. “Watch out for the pregnant woman.” Mal barked fiercely, and the man glanced over his shoulder for a second, then continued on his way. “Are you okay?” I asked Jenn.
“Yep,” she said as she clung to the bench armrest. “I caught myself in time.”
“Who was that? I mean, that was really rude. I want to follow him and give him a piece of my mind.” I helped her straighten.
“Are you girls alright?” It was Melanie Grazer, the owner of a nearby whatnot shop. “I saw him nearly push you to the ground.”
“I’m fine,” Jenn said and sent us a reassuring smile. I still had ahold of her elbow.
“Do you know who that was?” I asked Melanie.
Melanie and I had met at a Chamber of Commerce meeting last month. She had retired from a corporate marketing job and bought the shop last fall. She’d just returned to the island for the season. Her brown eyes showed concern, as if Jenn weren’t telling the truth. “I think it was Vincent Trowski. I swear that man gets ruder and ruder every time I see him. Are you sure you girls are okay?”
“We’re sure,” Jenn said. She glanced at her phone. “Still no answer from Hannah. I’m getting worried.”
“Are you looking for Hannah Riversbend?” Melanie asked.
“Yes, she’s my doula, and she hasn’t been answering my texts,” Jenn said.
“I saw her just a bit ago,” Melanie said. “She was arguing with Mathew Jones. I have no idea what it was about, but it was pretty animated.”
“Mathew Jones?” I asked.
Jenn shrugged. “He works on the ferries. Shane knows him from their softball league.”
“Wait, Shane plays softball?” I asked. Jenn’s husband was a skinny, science type with round glasses.
“Why do you say it like that?” Jenn asked. “He’s a really good pitcher.”
“How did I not know this?” I asked.
“Because you spend a lot of your time making fudge and running the hotel.” Jenn patted me on the shoulder. “It’s okay that some of us have a life.”
I frowned at her, and her eyes twinkled at me. I couldn’t be upset because she looked so happy when she teased me.
“Listen, you girls might be able to catch her,” Melanie said. “When she saw me, she stormed down the alley toward her place. It wasn’t that long ago.”
Mal whined and pulled on her leash, telling me she was done talking and was ready to keep walking. “Thanks,” I said, and Jenn and I followed Mal down the sidewalk and into the alley. The shops along Main Street and Market Street often had two stories, with the shop underneath and an apartment or two above. Like my apartment, they often had exits facing the alley, keeping the street view of the shop from being marred by stairs.
Mal sped up as we entered the alley, dragging me behind. “Hey, slow down,” I said. “Jenn can’t walk that fast.”
“Watch me,” Jenn said and stepped up her waddle. “Is that Mella?” she asked and pointed to a calico cat sitting on the top of a set of wire stairs that led to an upstairs apartment.
“Looks like it,” I said as we approached.
“Wait. Stop.” Jenn grabbed my arm just steps from the staircase.
“Are you okay?” I asked.
“Yes, I’m okay,” she said, “but he’s not.” She pointed with her chin toward the bottom of the stairs while Mal strained at the end of her leash.
On the gray rocky alley floor was a young man, lying in a widening pool of blood. “Oh, dear,” I said.
“ ‘Oh, dear’ is right,” Jenn said. “Hannah? Are you okay?”
A woman sat two steps up from the man and two steps down from where my cat, Mella, sat licking her paws.
“No,” Hannah said and looked up at us. I saw a gun in her right hand, which rested on her lap as if she didn’t realize what she held.
“Here.” I handed Jenn Mal’s leash. “I need you to get as far down the alley as you can.”
“But Hannah—” Jenn balked as she took Mal’s leash.
“Has a gun,” I said as calmly as I could. I glanced down at Mal. “Mal, take Jenn to safety.”
Mal turned and immediately pulled Jenn toward the end of the alley we’d just turned down.
Jenn looked like she wanted to protest, but Mal jerked hard, and Jenn took a step, turned, and hurried down the alley.
“Hannah,” I said calmly. “You need to put the gun down.”
She looked at me blankly. “What?”
“The gun in your hand,” I said and slowly stepped toward her. “You need to put it down.”
“Gun?” She didn’t seem to register my words. Mella moved two slow steps down and wormed her way into Hannah’s lap, knocking the gun out of her hand. The metal object rattled thickly across the end of the step and fell to the ground.
For a brief moment, I held my breath that it didn’t go off. When it hit the ground without discharging, I leapt into motion, diving under the stairs and grabbing the gun with the hem of my long sweater. I rolled to the other side of the stairs and lay there a moment. Hannah sat staring blankly, petting Mella, who had taken up residence in her lap. I got up and brushed the dust off my clothes, then carefully placed the gun in the deep pocket of my sweater.
Now, I wasn’t familiar with handguns, but this was a stocky weapon with a ridged grip and big enough that the handle stuck out of my pocket. Carefully, so as not to startle Hannah, I walked over to the man on the ground. His head turned away from the stairs, and the pool of blood widened around him. I squatted down to check for a pulse. I didn’t feel one, and he was already starting to go cold.
Rex and Officer Charles Brown came dashing down the alley on their bikes. They stood them next to the building and studied the scene.
“I’ve called the EMTs,” Rex said as he approached in his calm, steady strides.
“I don’t think they can help,” I said. Then I straightened and added, “I have a gun that may be involved.” Pointing to my pocket, I watched as he slipped on gloves, then squatted down much like I had, careful to avoid the blood. With a shake of his head, he silently communicated to Charles that they had another murder on their hands. Charles immediately went to a kit on his bike and began to secure the scene with crime scene tape.
Rex studied the man, careful not to miss any clues. Then he rose and walked over to me. “You picked up the gun? Why?” His blue eyes went flat cop, where everyone and everything was suspect—even me.
I swallowed as my heart rose in my chest. I held the pocket of my sweater open, careful not to touch the gun. “Hannah was holding it when we got here.”
He glanced at the woman who stared into space and kept absently petting Mella. “You said ‘we.’ Do you mean you and Jenn?” he asked as he carefully took the gun from my pocket and examined it.
“Yes.”
“Did you touch it?” he asked and sniffed it. It had definitely been fired.
“I used the hem of my sweater to pick it up after she dropped it,” I explained. “I wasn’t sure of her state of mind, and so I thought it was best not to leave the gun within her reach.”
He grunted as if to acknowledge what I said but not agree or disagree with my thinking. You would think I’d be used to this by now, but it still shocked me to be treated as part of a crime scene, especially by the man I was in love with.
Charles came up with an evidence bag and took the gun from Rex. “We passed Jenn at the entrance to the alley,” he said. “I imagine she’s called nine-one-one.”
“And Shane,” I agreed with Charles and hugged myself.
Rex had gone to try to talk to Hannah, who appeared to be in a state of shock and unable to tell him anything.
“Maybe it’s a good thing we called for George,” Charles said as the sirens of the ambulance—one of the few motor vehicles allowed on the island—indicated its arrival as it pulled in from the opposite mouth to the alley.
I became aware of a small crowd of locals that stood at the edges of the crime scene tape and the curtains moving in a neighboring window. “You might have a better witness than me,” I said and nudged my chin in the direction of the window. “They had to have heard the shot.”
“Did you hear the shot?” he asked.
“No,” I replied.
He looked at the gun. “Huh, that surprises me,” Charles said. “Stay put and I’ll get your statement in a few minutes.”
I nodded and watched as the island’s EMTs, George Marron and Kathy Bates, pulled a stretcher under the crime scene tape. Charles intercepted them, and they turned their attention to Hannah. The alley was warming up as the sun grew higher in the sky. My phone buzzed, and I saw it was Frances. “Hello?” I asked after hitting the Answer button.
“I heard sirens and saw Shane riding fast down Main Street,” Frances said. “Are you and Jenn alright? Did she go into labor?”
That thought made me smile. “Yes, we’re fine. No, she didn’t go into labor. We have a bit of a situation.”
“Oh, dear,” Frances said. “Another murder?”
“Yes, but this time it looks like we have the killer,” I said and glanced over to see Rex take Mella out of Hannah’s lap and let George and Kathy do their work.
“Oh, good,” Frances said with relief.
“Not so good,” I said.
“Why?”
“It’s Hannah Riversbend.” I spoke so low it was near a whisper.
“Oh, dear, the doula’s dead?” Frances asked.
“No,” I said. “Worse. We found her with the smoking gun.”
Nancy Coco, Give Fudge a Chance
