* * *
When Dee wrote for a short-lived sitcom called Law and Orfa—a show featuring a sassy comedienne named Orfa Eckert playing an equally sassy detective—she’d penned a hilarious scene between Eckert and a panicked, sweating suspect who was innocent and happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.
Living this out in real life proved not to be funny at all.
Aguilar and O’Bryant sat on the couch opposite Dee, firing one question after another at her.
“What was your history with the victim?”
“What prompted your argument in the All-in-One parking lot?”
“What happened after the argument?”
“Where were you in the hours following the argument up until the discovery of the victim?”
The only saving grace was that the two officers seemed more interested in competing with each other than in any of Dee’s responses. She wasn’t even sure they heard them. Having exhausted themselves after an hour of this, the officers called a wary truce. They excused Dee and called in Jeff.
While her hapless partner was subjected to Aguilar and O’Bryant’s firing line of questions, Dee took Nugget for a walk. This proved to be more of a saunter, since the dog was at the stage of life where a half hour of sniffing leaves and other animals’ droppings was exercise enough for him.
As they strolled, Dee mulled over the morning’s traumatic events. She wondered if she’d ever recover from the sight of Michael Adam Baker’s lifeless body, made even worse by the assumption he was murdered. She had good cause to hate the scheming writer. Yet she couldn’t imagine her fury escalating to the point where she killed him.
How did he drive someone to cross that line? she wondered. And what kind of person would actually cross it?
Dee maneuvered Nugget away from a particularly nasty pile of droppings and they loped along the trail behind the motel back to her apartment in time to see Aguilar and O’Bryant heading to their respective law enforcement vehicles. She waited until they pulled out of the parking lot, then went inside.
A glum Jeff sat on a kitchen barstool; he held a bag of frozen broccoli to his bruised knuckles. “Greetings, fellow suspect. That was fun, huh? As in not fun at all.”
Dee eyed him with worry. “We are suspects, aren’t we?”
“Oh, absolutely. They’d be terrible at their jobs if we weren’t. I was one step away from telling them I wouldn’t say another word without a lawyer present. But I didn’t want to tick them off, so instead I kept my answers short and factual and sent them the links to the security cameras for your place and Michael’s cabin. Too bad I never got around to putting up a camera at my own cabin. That’ll teach me for being all, ‘The country doesn’t scare me; I’ll get to it when I get to it.’ ”
Dee stood on her tippy-toes to open the cabinet where she kept doggy treats out of perpetually hungry Nugget’s eyeline. She extracted a dog biscuit shaped like a fire hydrant and fed it to the eager mutt.
“I’m so sorry. This is all my fault. I talked you into going into business with me. Michael came here because of me—”
“Stop.” Jeff gestured to her with the broccoli bag. “I’m an adult and responsible for my life choices, like coming in on the Golden with you. And this whole thing with Baker—”
“Less of a thing. More of a murder.”
“Mur—you know what, I’m gonna stick with thing. This whole thing doesn’t negate the fact that creating a writers’ retreat package is a great marketing idea.”
“As long as we’re not running the Golden from jail.”
“Oh, I can’t go to jail. I’m a ginger. You know that’ll make me a target.” Jeff popped up from the barstool and returned the broccoli bag to the freezer. “If you want a piece of good news, we have three reservations for next weekend.”
“Yay for that,” Dee said, her spirits perking up infinitesimally. “We can get a few more rooms ready for guests instead of doom scrolling on how to make bail.” She shuddered. “I could use a day drink. Want to join me on a run to the All-in-One?”
“You have no idea how much.”
On the short drive to the general store, Dee made a point of not discussing anything related to Michael Adam Baker’s murder. She could tell that despite his flippant attitude, Jeff was scared. His altercation with the writer had been physical, not verbal like hers. She guessed that positioned him slightly above her as the prime suspect.
The two parked and entered the All-in-One, making their way through the general store aisles to the café and bar. Both areas were packed, which Dee found unusual for a midafternoon weekday. As she and Jeff approached, all eyes turned to them, and the buzz of conversation stopped.
“I guess that old saw about news traveling fast in a small town is true,” Jeff said to Dee.
“Uh-huh.” She delivered this like a ventriloquist, a big fake smile plastered on her face. She waved to the patrons. “Hi, everyone. Nice to see you and we didn’t kill our guest.”
This generated the hoped-for response, an embarrassed chorus of “Of course not” and “We didn’t think that.” The buzz of conversation returned, with Dee under no illusion that the chatter was about anything other than Michael’s murder and the role she and Jeff may or may not have played in it.
The two bellied up to the bar and put in their orders with Elmira: white wine for her, whiskey for him. “You poor things,” Elmira said, refusing payment for the drinks. “That Michael Adam Baker brings nothing but trouble.” She corrected herself. “Brought. We’ll have to refer to him in past tense now.”
She shook her head sadly. Jeff downed his drink and held out his glass. “I’ll take another.”
“Pace yourself,” Dee warned. She took a sip of wine. “Law enforcement is all over the case,” she said to Elmira. “Local and national, counting rangers as national. Deputy Sheriff Aguilar and Chief Ranger O’Bryant.”
Elmira raised an eyebrow. “Them two? Hard to imagine either of them giving the other ground.”
“It’s definitely a you-know-what–measuring contest,” Dee said. “But they can measure away while we prep for guests. We’ve got a few reservations coming up.”
“Add those to the list of things to talk about in past tense.” Jeff, depressed, held up his phone. “Canceled. All of them.”
“What?” Dee took his phone. She glanced at and released a frustrated groan. “Ugh. I can’t believe this. Why would they all suddenly cancel like that?”
Elmira, who’d been reading something on her own phone, looked up. Her expression telegraphed she wasn’t going to deliver good news. “I got an idea why.”
She handed her phone to Dee, which was open to a Goldsgone Gazette e-blast. The sensationalistic subject line read in all caps: LOCAL LEGEND LOSES LIFE IN MURDER MOTEL!!!
Dee knocked back her wine and held the empty glass out to Elmira. “I’ll take another.”
