By Karen McGee

 

When the doorbell rang, Ella was frosting the last of six-dozen cupcakes for the annual church bazaar. She switched on the ceiling fan in the living room, grunting at the ache in her muscles, and moved to the door. Her hand shook as she reached for the knob. She flashed on the night before, when she’d opened up to discover a leering drunk, but she forced a smile and made herself open the door without checking first. Twin Lakes was a small town. Nobody used peepholes.

Two men stood on the porch. The one in uniform was Tom Aker, a beefy fair-haired police officer in his late twenties. Ella didn’t know the other one, but he was black-haired and lean, with a tan, creased face.

“Good morning,” Ella said.

“Miss Ella.” Tom nodded, addressing her as her students did and making her feel decades older than him rather than a few years.  He shifted awkwardly on his feet. “You mind if we have a word?”

“No. Of course not.” She swung the door open and watched Tom make way for the stranger.

“This is Chief Brandon,” he said.

“Cam,” Brandon said, extending a hand.

“Nice to meet you.” Ella shook his hand and did her best to smile past his scrutiny. So this was the man the council had hired to replace Chief Tompkins when he retired. Tompkins was a big, blue-eyed man who would have made a convincing Santa if he’d grown a beard. She’d heard his jovial exterior hid a streak of brutality, but his besetting sin was laziness.

The new chief was an entirely different animal. He looked fit enough to run a marathon, and his deep-set eyes and jutting jaw gave him a cruel look; she thought he might be one of those cops who enjoyed the power that came with his job a bit too much.

“Have a seat.” She gestured to the sofa. “Can I get you coffee? I just brewed some.”

Tom nodded just as Brandon answered, “No thanks.”

“Has there been some kind of trouble?” she asked.

“Why do you ask?” Tom said.

Ella let out a laugh that sounded high and shaky, but everything sounded off this morning. “You don’t usually show up on my porch at eight o’clock on a Saturday morning, so unless you smelled the cupcakes . . .”

Tom blushed and looked down at his feet.

Brandon continued to watch her, his gaze moving down to her shoes, then up to her hands and arms. She was wearing a long-sleeved linen shirt that covered the bruises, but she wondered if that was enough.

“It’s a little dark in here, isn’t it?” Brandon said. His voice was slow and sleepy-sounding. A Southerner. “You want me to raise the blinds?”

“Leave them,” she said quickly. “If you don’t mind.” She produced another stiff smile and then wondered if she was smiling too much. “I’m trying to keep the place cool so the frosting doesn’t melt.”

“Can you tell us where you were last night, Miss Ella?” Tom asked

“I was right here, baking those cupcakes so I could frost them this morning.” She waved at the kitchen table. The gesture hurt and she turned toward the table to hide a wince.

“No company?” Brandon asked.

She shook her head. “Friday nights I’m usually too tired for company. The kids wear me out.”

Tom nodded and glanced at Brandon.

“You sure I can’t get you some coffee, maybe a cupcake?” she asked.

“Tom, you go on out to the car,” Brandon said, “check in with dispatch. I’ll be right out.”

Tom frowned, rose to his feet, and glanced longingly in the direction of the cupcakes. “Guess I’ll see you at church tomorrow, Miss Ella.”

“Bring your wallet.”

After the door closed, Ella turned and looked at Brandon. “Well?”

“The job I’ve got, sometimes I have to ask uncomfortable questions.”

“I’m sure you do.”

“Just so you know,” he said, “if I don’t need the answers for a case, I can be as forgetful as a man twice my age.”

Ella nodded.

“You ever been out to Doug Forester’s house?”

“Doug Forester? Has something—”

“—go ahead and answer the question, if you please.”

She looked down at her feet, took slow breaths, and tried not to think about Doug pounding on her door last night and everything that came after.

“Why are you asking?” she said.

“Some kids saw him in the parking lot of Twin Lakes Elementary last night.”

She nodded and closed her eyes for a moment. “I’ve had to chase him off a couple of times. But no, I’ve never been out to his house. Not that it’s any of your business.” She glared up at him, feeling heat spread over her face and neck. She wasn’t used to being rude, especially to police. “What’s this all about?”

“You weren’t there last night?” he asked.

“Last night I was here baking, like I said.”

His eyes narrowed.

“Has something happened to Doug?” she asked.

He rose. “You might say that. He’s got himself killed.”

“Killed?” She bit her lip hard and stared up at him, wide-eyed, trying to look stunned.

The flat, straight line of his lips softened. “You don’t seem too upset by the news.”

“Well, of course I’m shocked, nothing like this happens in Twin Lakes. But I didn’t really know Doug.”

“You wouldn’t mind giving me a DNA sample and some fingerprints, would you?”

She shook her head. “No, not if you show me a warrant. Otherwise, I’m afraid I’d rather not contribute to your database.”

“I’d destroy the records if they weren’t pertinent.”

“That’s nice to hear, but how can I know it’s the truth?” She felt her heart begin to pound as she realized she’d just insulted him. “I mean, I don’t know you and . . . well, I’ve read things about people going into the system.”

Her answer brought a deep silence that seemed to spread around them. She knew she should return his gaze, show him she wasn’t afraid, but she couldn’t manage it.

“I see,” he finally said. “Well, guess I’ll see you in church.”

Ella waited until the patrol car had pulled away to move to the bathroom. She inspected her face in the mirror and then switched on the light. The makeup muted the bruises on her temple and jaw, but it didn’t cover them. Not under bright light. And the bruises on her arms were even darker. She was going to have to wear long sleeves to church tomorrow. She’d wear her red hat, tipped to shade the side of her face. She didn’t know how long she could fool Chief Brandon—he was already suspicious—but she wasn’t going to give up. She loved this town, her job, the kids she worked with, and the truth would take all of that away.

She crossed to the kitchen and looked down at the cupcakes, inhaled the sweet scent of her favorite recipe—her mother’s recipe. “The secret for this recipe is sifting everything twice before you start,” her mother used to say, “especially the powdered sugar.” Ella would never be able to eat red velvet cake again, not without wanting to vomit.

***

There used to be three churches in Twin Lakes, but a couple of decades ago the shrinking population of Methodists and Lutherans had combined forces, and now there were only two: Catholic and Protestant. Religion divided the town for services, but the concerts and festivals drew everyone. There just wasn’t much else to do in Twin Lakes.

The gym was loud, with youngsters running among chatting adults, booths displaying baked goods, donated clothing and household items, and games such as ring toss and balloon pop. A free throw contest was being held at the other end of the gym, and the sound of basketballs hitting the floor added to the din. The cakewalk was always the last event, and several people hovered near the long display table, inspecting the numbered cakes and pies. Ella shifted her weight and counted the remaining cupcakes in front of her. She was so tired, she felt like she was watching the world from under water. Sixteen cupcakes to go. Once they all sold, she could turn in the money and make an excuse to leave.

The elderly Mary Bylund and her sister Emily had deserted the Needlework booth—their rightful domain—and had been lingering for the better part of an hour, glancing frequently in Ella’s direction. Liz and Robert Ely joined them.

“You heard about the fire at the old Sutter place Friday night?” Liz said. “I hear it was kids.”

“Lucky they spotted it in time to save the barn,” Robert said.

“It was the Acker boy out on patrol who saw it,” Emily said. They glanced toward Ella, including her in the conversation. Mary and Emily moved off, leaving the Elys in their spot, like the next shift in a cupcake watch.

“Wow, you wore your red hat, and it’s not even a holiday weekend!”

Ella turned to greet Sylvia, her best friend and town pediatrician. “Thought I’d match my cupcakes.”

“I’ve got to have one of these before they’re all gone.” Sylvia dropped four quarters into the shoebox and picked up a cupcake.

“They’ll make your teeth red,” Ella said.

Sylvia took a big bite and let out a moan of ecstasy. Then she grinned at Ella. “What do I care? I’ve already got my man.”

“Oh. Right. Go ahead and eat the rest of them then.”

“Well, I do want to fit through the door when I get home,” Sylvia said. “Speaking of men, have you met the new Chief of Police yet?”

Ella scanned the crowd and spotted Chief Brandon near the free throw contest chatting with a couple of boys. He looked up and nodded at her before she could look away. “Yes,” she said.

“Hmmm, so I see. Quite a hunk, huh?”

“I don’t know,” Ella said. “He’s okay, I guess.”

“Just okay? All his hair, no sign of a beer belly, great butt and just okay? This is Twin Lakes, Ella. You have got to lower your standards.” Sylvia laughed and Ella tried to join her. “He’s from Atlanta, did you know? I guess that explains the tan, huh?”

“I thought he sounded like a Southerner.”

“Oh, you’ve talked to him?”

“Briefly. Why would he move to Minnesota?” Ella asked. They looked at each other and both laughed.

“I don’t know, Ella, why are we here?”

“He’s in for a shock come winter,” Ella said.

Sylvia nodded. “He’s not married, you know. I think he’s been watching you.”

“Oh?” Ella forced herself to take a slow breath and reached down to arrange the cupcakes. Sylvia grabbed her arm to get her attention, and Ella let out a hiss.

“What’s the matter? Are you hurt?”

Ella looked across the gym, towards Brandon, but he wasn’t where she’d last seen him. Was he still watching? “I’m fine. I burned my arm taking the cupcakes out.”

Sylvia’s face filled with sympathy. Too much sympathy? She leaned forward and spoke in a hushed voice. “Are you sure it’s okay? You want me to look at it?”

The last thing Ella wanted was comfort from Sylvia. Not in public. Not when there was a chance Ella would throw herself into her friend’s arms and weep just as the new police chief walked by. “No, it’s not that bad, just a little tender. But if you’re done at the jumble booth, would you mind taking over here? I didn’t sleep much last night, and my head is killing me.”

“Sure, no problem. Up late grading?”

“How’d you guess? I could really use a nap.”

Sylvia tilted her head to one side. “Ella? You sure you’re okay?”

Ella nodded as she picked up her purse. She hated lying, especially to Sylvia.

***

Ella always did classwork and homework before she asked her seven and eight-year-olds to do it. She’d discovered countless flaws in assignments that way. This morning she was rearranging arithmetic problems on a worksheet when three brisk knocks on the front door made her jump.

She’d been expecting another visit from Chief Brandon, and when she peered through the peephole, sure enough, there he was. Alone this time. She didn’t want to be alone with the man, but maybe coming alone meant he wasn’t ready to arrest her. Maybe he was just going to show her a warrant and take a cheek swab. Should she run out the back and throw herself into the lake? Stay quiet and hope he went away? Open the door and brazen it out, then pack and run?

“I know you’re there,” he said, his voice quiet, as if there were no door between them. “I just want to talk for a minute. I won’t keep you.”

Won’t keep you. So no arrest? If he was telling the truth. Well, she couldn’t cower forever, and he didn’t look like he was going away. She let out a long shuddery breath, stepped away from the door and pulled it open.

“Chief Brandon,” she said, crossing her arms.

“Miss Ella. May I have a word?”

“You don’t have to call me that. You’re not one of my students.”

He shrugged. “Everybody in town seems to.”

“I was just on my way out,” she said.

“This won’t take long.”

She hesitated another second and then stepped back. “Well, okay then, come on in.”

The bruises had faded and Ella knew they were no longer discernible under her makeup. But nightmares and lying and feeling watched had taken its toll. She wasn’t sure how much longer she could pretend to be calm for this sharp-eyed man.

“Can I get you some coffee?” she asked. “Or some iced tea?”

“No thanks.”

He sat on the sofa and she took the easy chair.

“Did you hear I won two cakes at the bazaar last Sunday?” he said. “Seems to me that contest may have been rigged.”

“Oh? No, I had to leave early, so I . . . I missed the cakewalk.” Why was he talking about the church bazaar? Shouldn’t he be showing her a warrant?

“I just thought I should let you know about that trouble last week. There has been progress of sorts.”

“Oh?” Was he playing with her? “You have a suspect?”

“You know Al Paulson?” he said.

“Al? Sure, I’ve had his grandson in my class for two years now. Al’s helped me out on field trips.”

Brandon nodded. “He came into my office last Monday and confessed.”

“He . . . Al confessed to killing Forester?”

“Said he waited until Forester was asleep, slipped into the house and killed him.”

“He . . . but why? Why would he—”

“—he had some story about a long-held grudge,” he said. “Claims Forester hurt an unnamed lady friend of his. I haven’t been able to check much of Al’s tale yet. Been a little busy. See, Tuesday I got a call from the Bylund sisters.”

“Mary and Emily?”

“Appears occasionally when they can’t sleep, they take a drive at night in that old Buick of theirs. They were out the night Forester was killed and witnessed the murderer leave the house covered with blood. Had a pretty good description too.”

Ella licked her dry lips as she remembered dashing out the back door of Doug Forrester’s house. Had they seen her? But Mary and Emily rarely drove anymore, even during the day. “So who did they . . . who was it?” she asked, her voice hoarse.

“Well, it wasn’t Al Paulson. According to Mary and Emily, the man they saw had an eye patch and a limp. And he was considerably younger than Al.”

Ella felt a pain in her wrist and realized she was clutching the arms of the chair. She let her hands fall open. “I see. So are you . . . have you been looking for him?”

“Oh sure. But the thing is, I’m a bit spoiled for choice. See, during the week I got two more confessions—both from that coffee klatch of Al’s that meets at the Copper Kettle. You know the one?”

Ella nodded. Most mornings Al and three of his buddies could be found at the local diner, drinking coffee and flirting gently with Susan, the fifty-year-old waitress. None of the men were under seventy.

“Also, three more witnesses have come forward about this drifter the Bylund sisters told me about. All of them saw the eye patch, but otherwise their descriptions cover a pretty wide terrain. They can’t even agree on size or hair color.” He shook his head. “I suppose it’s possible there was more than one stranger in town with an eye patch, but I tell you, I don’t care for the odds on that.”

She blinked at him, trying to decide if he was joking or a complete idiot. He had to be kidding, but he looked perfectly serious. Would a cop joke about a murder?

“This week I’ve been busier than a one-legged man in a bucket kicking contest, but I’ve learned a few things,” he said. “I had no idea Twin Lakes had so much traffic in the wee hours. Shame the vision of the average night owl here is so unreliable.”

Emily had a sudden image of Main Street crowded with elderly, insomniac drivers.

“Myself, I’m leaning towards the drifter the sisters saw, the one with the limp. At least two witnesses agree on that one. Anyway, I thought I’d let you know where things stood, in case you were worried.”

Ella nodded and peered out the window at the street, not tursitng herself to respond. What would he do if she burst into laughter?”

His voice was software when he continued. “I hope in the future you’ll feel free to work with me, if anything comes up. I know the last chief wasn’t always real quick off the mark about resolving problems.”

Ella clamped her jaw tight. That was one way to put it; spineless bootlicker was another. Tompkins should have dealt with Doug Forester, town terror, years ago. “Chief Tompkins tended to avoid confrontation,” she said.

“So I’ve heard. Not really my style.”

Ella imagined Chief Brandon facing off against Doug Forester. Even without a gun, she’d put her money on Brandon; He was big city, and he probably fought dirty. “So Doug’s killer is still . . . I mean, are people worried the killer will come back?”

“Most people around here think Forester needed killing like a rabid stray needs putting down. I’ve read his file, and believe me, he hurt a lot of people.”

“I believe you.”

He leaned toward her and his voice dropped. “Something a little strange . . . when I got the ME’s report today, there was evidence of sexual activity, but they also found powdered sugar on the sheets.”

“Powdered sugar?”

“There wasn’t any in the kitchen. I guess Doug wasn’t the baking kind.”

She stared down at the floor.

He stood. “I’m not going to worry too much about that, so long as whoever killed Forester doesn’t make a habit of killing. But I don’t think that’s likely, do you?”

She shook her head, closing her eyes against the image of a blade slicing through the soft flesh of a throat, the gush of blood, like hot, red velvet splashing her hands. “No.” Her answer came out as a squeak. She cleared her throat and tried again. “No, I don’t think that’s likely.”

“Well then.” He turned and moved to the door. “See you around town, Miss Ella.”