Gazing down, the face of Deputy Paulsen stares back from the swirling cabochon.
Now, that’s one way to ruin my appetite. I pick at the perfect, sacred home fries, which would normally be scarfed down without hesitation, and push my plate away.
Taking a last, desperate glug of coffee, I collect my dishes and tuck them in the bus bin behind the counter. Old habits die hard.
Waving goodbye to Odell and Tally, I slip my mittens back on and continue down Main Street to the sheriff’s station.
Deputy Baird is manning the desk and, true to form, she’s deeply involved in a game on her phone.
She barely looks up when I walk in, but nods her head anyway.
That is the official signal, which allows me unescorted access to Erick’s office.
I push through the crooked wooden gate, inhale the scent of burned coffee, and walk across the empty bullpen. As I approach the sheriff’s office, a knot of resentment forms in my stomach. Based on Furious Monkeys’ head nod, Erick is sitting at his desk. Why didn’t he text me?
I’m working up a wronged-girlfriend speech as I turn the corner into his office. Imagine my surprise, and immense disappointment, when I discover Deputy Paulsen occupying his chair.
Caught off guard by her unwelcome presence, I blurt the first thing that pops into my head. “Erick isn’t in here.”
The portly deputy makes a show of searching under several stacks of papers on the desk and inside her coffee mug. “Nope. Not in here.”
I shake off her reply. “Obviously. Let me rephrase my question, Deputy. Where is Sheriff Harper?”
She leans back in Erick’s chair and fixes me with a self-satisfied grin as she jerks a thumb over her left shoulder. “Back in the holding cells.”
I openly roll my eyes as I offer an insincere thanks and head down the narrow hallway. You may wonder how I know my way to the holding cells? Let’s say that I’ve been there before, not as a visitor, and leave it at that.
Why was Paulsen looking so smug? She’s probably soaking up the glory of sitting in the sheriff’s chair. Ever since he defeated her in the last election, I’ve questioned her loyalties. Erick is always the first to say what a good cop she is, but one has to wonder. I push through the metal door at the end of the hallway and search the small passageway.
Maybe she was gleeful about sending me on a fool’s errand. I definitely don’t see Erick standing outside any of the cells. Maybe he’s checking on a prisoner. “Sheriff Harper? Sheriff, are you back here?”
The hairs on the back of my neck lift in warning and I swear there’s a soft groan.
Sounds like someone in pain. What if he’s hurt?
Racing down the short drab corridor, I skitter to a stop in front of the middle holding cell. “Erick? What are you doing in there?”
My normally freshly scrubbed and shaved boyfriend is camped on the cold metal bench, head in hands, with a hint of stubble peppering his jaw. “I wish I could say I was glad to see you, Moon. I’m sorry I didn’t call to cancel breakfast—they took my phone.”
I grip the grey steel bars with both hands and pull my face close to the cell. “Who took your phone? What’s going on? You’re not making any sense.”
He leans back against the cinderblock wall, and that’s when I notice that there’s no badge pinned on his uniform. The two empty eyelets shout a deadly warning.
My extrasensory perception offers a single clairaudient clue. “Murder.” Suddenly, this morning’s flash of uneasiness makes perfect sense. “Who was murdered?”
Erick’s weary blue-grey eyes snap to attention. “Did Paulsen fill you in?”
I throw my arms up in the air. “No! No one is filling me in, including you. Would someone please tell me what’s going on?”
“Gerhardt Klang’s body was discovered outside the service entrance behind the ice rink this morning. The Zamboni driver comes in early to prepare the ice before the figure-skating lessons. He didn’t recognize the victim. But when Paulsen and I arrived on the scene, and I realized who it was, I had to take myself off the case.” His monotone voice belies the storm brewing beneath the surface.
“All right. You recused yourself. That kind of makes sense, but why are you sitting in a jail cell without your badge?”
“A lot of people saw the two of us fighting last night. They also heard me threaten the victim.” Erick runs a hand through his hair and attempts to scrape the long bangs from his eyes. “Once Paulsen confirmed the ID of the victim and the deputies found my bloody jersey in the laundry bin, she asked me to surrender my badge and gun. She’s holding me for questioning until she gets the ME’s report.”
I kick the bars with the toe of my snow boot and grimace at the unexpected pain. “Classic Paulsen, always overreacting and eager to arrest everyone. You’re the sheriff. Can’t you pardon yourself or something?”
Erick sighs heavily and slowly gets to his feet. He walks to the bars and reaches one hand through.
I slide my hand in his and get an immediate clairsentient dose of his uncertainty. “Hey, we both know you didn’t do this. You’re not a murderer. I’ll look into things. You said it before, my hunches can be surprisingly accurate. I’ll figure out who actually murdered Klang, and you’ll be out of here in no time.”
He squeezes my hand. “Thanks for believing in me. I don’t think Paulsen honestly suspects me, but the evidence isn’t in my favor right now. It’s not a good idea for me to be seen poking around this case. I don’t want any rumors of impropriety. It’s probably for the best if I stay in here until someone clears me.”
“Don’t worry, someone will do exactly that. Mitzy Moon is on the case.” At least my grandstanding brings a weak smile to his lips.
I pull him closer and kiss him through the bars. “I’ll bring you some lunch.”
He stares at me with admiration. “Thanks, Moon.”
Chapter 3
During the brisk walk back to the bookshop, I risk removing a mitten to place a call to my attorney, who also happens to be a powerful alchemist. I put the call on speaker and get my glove back on before frostbite claims a digit. “Good morning, Mr. Willoughby.”
His sigh offers no indication of whether I’ve met his standards of etiquette. “Good morning, Mizithra. What is it you require?”
Busted. Although, I can’t imagine why it offends him that my calls tend to coincide with when I need something. He should feel proud that I trust him so completely that it never occurs to me that he might not be able to help. However, his tone indicates he doesn’t see it that way. “Silas, I’m sorry to bother you, but Erick is somehow in jail for the murder of some broomball player named Gerhardt Klang. Paulsen is having a field day holding him for questioning, but you and I both know there’s no way he did this.”
“Certainly not.” Silas harrumphs. “Gerhardt Klang is an archeologist of considerable notoriety and a tenured professor in the anthropology department at the local community college. I was not aware he played sport. What evidence places your sheriff under suspicion?”
“All circumstantial. Erick got in a fight with the guy at the broomball game last night, and, in the heat of the moment, he kind of made some threatening statements.” I swallow and add an afterthought. “Oh, and there was blood on Erick’s game jersey, but that had to be from the fight.”